Something Always Remains
by Nightmare1
Summary: AU. During Mike Schmidt's tenure, strange and terrifying things lead to the discovery of a hidden room, and a strange, empty animatronic suit that holds more than a few dark secrets to the past. Initially lured to Freddy Fazbear's with his own mystery to solve, Mike finds himself delving deeper into tragedies long since forgotten...and the one behind them.
1. Mike

**Summary: **AU. During Mike Schmidt's tenure, strange and terrifying things lead to the discovery of a hidden room, and a strange, empty animatronic suit that holds more than a few dark secrets to the past...

**Genre:** _Five Nights at Freddy's_, so...horror.

**Rated:** PG-13/T overall for violence, death, violent death, swearing, and in Chapter 3, one mild slur and _very_ brief sexual talk.

**Disclaimer:** I own no one in this fic save for my OCs. I gave the FNaF animatronics/characters their personalities, some of which are based a little on accepted fanon/headcanon. I know gender tends to start fights in this fandom, so for the sake of this _**ALTERNATE UNIVERSE**_ story, the Chicas are female, Mangle is whatever, as I somehow managed to mention him/her/it/them without using any pronouns, the Puppet is genderless, and everyone else is male unless otherwise stated. The ghosts haunting them may or may not match bot gender. Deal.

I will reiterate that this is an _**ALTERNATE UNIVERSE**_. While several canon events and characters remain present, some of them have been moved around, omitted, or changed. My goal is simply to tell an interesting story.

I started this story in March of 2015. It's literally the length of about four novels, so you can imagine the work put into it to produce a finished, polished product all at once _solely_ so no one has to wait for updates. As a quick refresh, FNaF4 would be released in July 2015, four months after I started. To state the obvious, _**A LOT OF NEW MATERIAL**_ has come out since then, and as such, some fun coincidences came up. I have a character named Charlotte (Mike's mother here, and I refuse to change it because I had it before _The Silver Eyes_), missing siblings, one or two things about the franchise's past, and as of _Pizzeria Simulator_, a LOT of "GDI, out of my head, Scott!" regarding a certain animatronic, albeit done a bit differently.

Any similarities in materials beyond FNaF4 should be taken as coincidence. This story focuses primarily on the first game with an altered timeline, with references to 2 - 4 as needed, and what little of _Sister Location_ and _Pizzeria Simulator_ I could utilize without them being obviously shoehorned in.

_Five Nights at Freddy's_ belongs to Scott Cawthon.

**Background:** Strangely enough, this was inspired by a ship fic that had a good concept at its heart, but was often shoved to the back in favor of romance. All I did was cut out the romance and focus on the untapped horror potential. It was also originally supposed to be a _lot_ shorter than it ended up being (like 20k words tops), but as I wrote, I kept finding lots of fun directions to go in, once-minor characters gaining life, and subplots getting more complex than I intended. In the end, I wound up with this beautiful, gigantic monster.

Also, when I started writing this, I was dealing with a death in the family. While I went back and re-wrote a _lot_ of scenes due to it, I will not deny this had some influence on the plot. Then again, seeing as death is a strong theme in this series? It's almost fitting.

Rest in peace, Ryan. In a weird way, this story is dedicated to you.

A whole-hearted thanks to all my betas whose input helped to immensely shape the final product.

* * *

_**HELP WANTED - Freddy Fazbear's Pizza**_

_Family pizzeria looking for security guard to work the night shift 12am - 6am._

_Monitor cameras, ensure the safety of equipment and animatronic characters._

_Not responsible for injury/dismemberment._

_$120 a week. To apply call: 1-888-FAZ-BEAR_.

* * *

**Saturday, November 6, 1993**

Mike Schmidt kicked back on his sofa, a cigarette between his lips, the day's paper spread before him. He took a drag as he glared at the black-and-white picture accompanying the current ad. Freddy Fazbear held up a hand in a wave, his large mouth open mid-song, a spotlight adding a bit of shine to his eyes, bowtie, tophat, and microphone. Mike's spine went painfully rigid, and his right arm throbbed a little.

Years ago, he and several other children clamored for the games and pizza the place offered, and more than that, the animatronic characters. Several memories flashed through his mind, of joy and laughter, of sorrow...of pain. His right arm ached again. Even before he outgrew the place, things...happened there, and kept happening. He long since put that place behind him.

Mike grimaced at the ad's timely appearance. It appeared right after he was let go from a droll office job. He didn't need _this_ job, he told himself. He had enough money saved to look for other prospects for a few more months if he needed to. There was nothing at that old place for him.

His arm ached again, as if catching him in a lie.

Mike took another deep drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly, and tossed the wanted section onto his beat up coffee table. He then flipped to the comic pages instead, hoping that the day's Calvin and Hobbes might get that wretched place off his mind.

But the smiling bear nagged at him. More than that, Mike's mind went the last few of his boxes that remained packed since he first moved in a few years ago, still shoved in the back of his bedroom closet to remain properly buried.

Of their contents, and the mystery that came with them.

He lowered the comics and looked back over to the wanted ad. Fate had a way of fucking with him, it seemed. In a week, it would mark six years since it happened.

The cigarette stub found itself burning into Freddy's face, the newspaper curling away until only an ash-tinged hole engulfed the bear's head. A strong feeling coursed through his system as Mike watched the blackened embers cool. A warning, he knew, but also...something else lying just underneath.

Like a calm, whispering voice that reached even the faintest of his senses.

Mike knew better than to ignore it. He thought of the boxes again, of the answers he craved.

That alone prompted him to pick up the phone.

* * *

At twenty minutes to midnight, Mike stood outside of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. He tightly gripped a blue, coffee-filled thermos in his hand as a sense of dread washed over him. The uniform discomforted him, beyond the tight cuffs and starched, scratchy purple cloth, the weight of the security badge at his chest, and the tie that hung like a noose from his neck.

Fitting when he felt like a dead man walking.

Having lived in this town all of his life, Mike knew all the rumors, the stories, the local legends: the missing children. The mysterious incidents and malfunctions that forced Fazbear Entertainment to keep shutting down and re-opening. The tales of people who set foot inside and never came out.

He knew better. Long ago, he promised himself he'd never set foot here ever again. Even now, he knew he was insane for coming back. Not after…

_Flashes of red over the tile floors._

_Screaming and sobbing as people in uniforms tried to sort things out._

_Red and blue flashing lights._

_A gleam at someone's wrist._

_Pain that only worsened with time._

Mike shuddered as he shoved the thoughts back. He tried not to think of the faces, the fear, the blood. Tried not to think about how fate compelled him to come back after all these years.

But he needed answers, and here was as good as any place to start.

Mike focused on the task on hand. The manager eagerly accepted his application on the spot earlier this afternoon. He had been in and out, with hardly a moment to look around before he was given the purple uniform shirt and shoved out the door.

Be here about fifteen minutes early, the man told him. Do a building sweep and check for stragglers, then be in the office by midnight.

And once there, don't leave.

Mike disliked the ominousness of that command, how pertinent it seemed to be in the office before midnight and stay there. The rumors once more entered his mind, the painful memories of before.

Of blood and purple and gold, of eyes that stared ahead and never saw anything again.

It happened years ago, he reminded himself. Things changed, and the rumors were just that: rumors. Yet he wondered..._did_ something terrible happen at night? Was there something he should fear?

Or was he just being paranoid? Letting rumors and incidents cloud his judgement, the past distort the present?

Maybe the manager just didn't want things to be messed with.

Or maybe...

The white building stood before him, a shell of its former self. Everything above the doors was painted in a purple stripe that circled the building, fading silver stars dotting it as the old sign bearing Freddy's smiling face flickered with its last dregs of life. A small sign by the door gave a warning that recording devices were in use. Through the tinted front windows - that needed a good washing, he noted - Mike saw an old janitor finishing up the rest of the night's work, his strong, dark hands guiding a mop.

Well, great. Company for a few minutes, at least.

He took a look into the window, and almost jumped at the sight of the purple uniform reflecting back, the security hat that nearly hid his eyes in shadow, the golden Freddy badge glimmering back at him. Mike swallowed hard. He reached up to push a strand of black hair out of his face.

For a moment, he almost didn't look like himself. That in that brief moment…

Someone else stared back.

_Damn it,_ he thought. _Not even inside yet, and I'm already freaking myself out_.

He glanced at the glass, at his blue eyes glowering back at him. Stupid, they seemed to say. Stupid for being here. Stupid for not turning around and running. Stupid for blatantly ignoring every alarm in his head screaming at him to hold to his promise to himself to never come back here.

He made a quick adjustment of his shirt collar and tucked a missed section of his purple uniform shirt into his dark slacks. Fine, judgemental reflection. At least we'll look our best.

Bracing himself, Mike grabbed the brass handle to the front door and pulled it open.

A cutesy jingle announced his arrival overhead, alerting his presence to the man with the mop. Mike's shoes clacked against the hard checkered floor as he made his way to the only other person here. The janitor looked up only for a second to acknowledge the newcomer. Mike noted his aging face, his black, leathery skin, the trimmed salt-and-pepper hair and beard under his blue brimmed hat, the weary lines under his brown eyes.

"So you're the new kid, eh?" the janitor asked.

The man stood over a head taller than Mike, his shoulders nearly as broad as his gut. He went back to scrubbing at a particularly sticky soda spill, his slouched posture bringing him nearly down to Mike's level. Mike grimaced a bit. At twenty-five and standing at 5'3", he still looked young, but not _that_ young.

"Mike Schmidt," he said with a frown, "and I'm not a kid."

"Well, best of luck to you anyway," the old man said, wearily, not bothering to introduce himself.

The lights flickered a little. Mike glanced up, watching as the lights settled before he turned back to the old janitor in time to catch his frown.

"Darn this wiring," the old man muttered as he went back to mopping. "Just replaced it a few years ago, and still won't work right. Must be somethin' about this old place."

He cleared the stain, then rinsed the mop off in the bucket before turning back to Mike.

"But you probably won't deal with it long," he continued. "Y'ask me, you'll be gone before the week's out."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mike asked.

The janitor shrugged, and went to empty the mop bucket.

"Later, _kid_."

"_Mike,_" he corrected, then sighed.

Why bother? The old man already determined he wouldn't last, which made Mike question what was so hard about watching some cameras and making sure nothing got in the building.

...Or _out_.

Damn the rumors.

_Keep it together, Schmidt_, he thought to himself. _Don't let your mind screw you over. Again._

Ignoring the janitor, Mike finally got to properly look around the place, now that he wasn't dealing with a hasty-to-hire, belligerent manager. He checked his watch: a quarter til midnight. Mike then looked up and glanced around the room.

The building really showed its age, with some chips in the walls hidden by the children's sketches, and while the checkered floor sparkled, Mike easily picked out scratches that came over time from moved furniture and children's shoes. The first time he came, there had been booths and several smaller tables to accommodate smaller families; now longer party tables replaced them. Many of the old game cabinets were still here, with paint chipping off and buttons worn down from where many little fingers pressed and slammed until they barely worked anymore.

Mike then noted the curtains on both stages. They still looked almost new, with their purple color and silver stars. He walked to the back toward Pirate Cove. His heart sank a little when he saw the small sign beside it.

-_Sorry!- Out of Order._

"And it'll probably stay that way until this place finally shuts down," Mike said, setting his thermos down on one of the tables.

He opened the front of the curtains, vaguely remembering the character behind it. Mike glanced up, recalling the the animatronics stood at least as tall as the door frames. His eyes widened as they adjusted to the figure behind the curtain.

Upon first glance, the hanging, broken jaw and gaping hole in the animatronic's chest would have caught most people's attention first. For Mike, the first thing that caught his eye was how _different_ the fox looked compared to his memory. Yellow eyes stared ahead, one covered with a dark eyepatch, the long shout lined with pointed teeth. His red ears stood propped up on metal joints. Something about his face, his jaws, looked more...innocent than before. Less intimidating. Less _sharp_.

That was it, Mike decided. The face was rounder, less angled than before.

Only after that did he take in the thing's state of disrepair, the exposed metal legs and feet, the frayed holes in the suit. The fox's non-hook hand was exposed, no longer wearing a soft red glove to cover the metal fingers underneath.

"Looks like you've seen better days," Mike said. "Foxy, wasn't it?"

The damn thing scared him as a kid, and even now, the thing's teeth still set him on edge. Still, he gave it a soft smile.

"I used to like your stories. Never could sit up front, though."

He let go of the curtain to hide the decrepit fox from sight again, then headed to the right to check the main stage. Mike vaguely remembered parts and pieces of Foxy's stories as he walked. When he better managed his fear of the fox as a child, the stories usually assuaged him enough to at least sit in the back and listen, despite the creepy thing telling them.

He pushed the memories back as he reached the main stage, utilizing the three large, sturdy steps in front of it to reach it. Behind the main curtain, Mike allowed himself a small smile when he got his first glimpse at his childhood heroes: Bonnie the Bunny, Freddy Fazbear and Chica the Chicken all stood in perfect order. They stared out into the empty dining room while waiting to power on. Over the years, they went through some changes as well; he clearly remembered they all had bigger jaws and eyes when he was younger.

Bonnie's once-bright fur faded into a dull purple. His chest, snout and inner ears all barely clung to a light lavender color. Like Foxy, he and Freddy both had their ears propped up on joints, with Bonnie's given another bisect to both allow him more range of emotion as well as more stability with their length. He held his red guitar, the color perfectly matching his eyes and bowtie.

Freddy stood tall as usual in his black top hat and bowtie, his brown plush having better held its color over the years. He held his microphone under his chin, his blue eyes warm and friendly, his large jaw opened in a smile. The face of the franchise, the giant teddy bear was ready to sing and dance for the kids.

Mike disliked the open, gaping maw. His right arm ached as he quickly moved to the last one.

Chica in particular looked different compared to his memory, with a less pointed beak and a much rounder head than the others, giving her the appearance of an overgrown duckling more than a chicken. Her once bright yellow color dulled with dust and dirt, though management kept her white bib with its purple and yellow, "LET'S EAT!" catchphrase clean. Same with her orange beak, which gleamed a bit with polish in front of her purple eyes. In her left hand, she held a pink cupcake on a platter. The cupcake had weird, goofy blue eyes and two little teeth poking from under its frosting.

All of them had metal joints glistening between costume pieces.

"Guess they tried to make you all less creepy," Mike said.

Not that it worked that much. Mike looked them over, at Bonnie's fading purple fur and red guitar that had seen better days, at Freddy missing small patches of plush, particularly where little children once hugged his legs and waist, at Chica, whose dingy yellow color spoke more than anything else of the age of this place. This close to them, he caught a strange smell coming from their animatronic suits. Something sickening, old and fading, but enough to make his stomach turn.

_When was the last time they were cleaned?_ he wondered.

Mike briefly remembered when he was younger, how being near them and getting a hug from one of them made his day. Everything seemed so magical back then, how his eyes lit up when they came to life onstage, how he still remembered some of the goofy songs, how just _being here_ felt like he walked into a wonderland, once upon a time.

Now he wondered how he _ever_ got close to those things without feeling unnerved and creeped out.

The magic was gone. The life had long since faded. There were no cheerful singing friends anymore, only old, deteriorating animatronics slowly dying and withering away into this tomb of a restaurant. It almost broke his heart, seeing them like this now.

Mike ran his eyes over the three of them again, starting with Bonnie and Freddy. A slight smile crept over his lips.

"You two always made me laugh," he said. "And Bonnie, you helped me come out of my shell."

He then turned to Chica.

"And you were always my favorite."

None of them moved. They only stared ahead into the empty room. Mike let go of the curtain and left the stage to finish his checks, not that he expected to find anyone here. To the right of the stage, a small hallway lead to a dead end, save for the bathrooms along the right wall. Children's drawings plastered the wall at the end.

_Wasn't there more there before?_ Mike thought.

He didn't think too hard on it as he moved to check the bathrooms. Upon finding nothing, he made his way back into the dining room, circling around the main stage again to reach the other side. He stopped at the end of the stage and glanced ahead. A row of several video game cabinets lined the wall beside Pirate Cove, ending just beyond the reach of the main stage's steps. Mike approached the last video game cabinet, a two-player fighter-style game that he noted looked newer than the others. His chest panged a little. He ignored it as he turned to look in the back corner, in the open area just beside the stage. An open door welcomed him. As Mike approached it, he glimpsed the, "Employees Only" sign.

_Blurs of red, yellow, brown, and purple._

_A soft, accented voice in his ear._

_The smell of cigarettes mingled with cologne._

_Two glowing eyes in the dark._

Mike swallowed hard as he stepped towards it. He felt to the side for the light switch, taking a deep breath as he flipped it on.

Several eyes and empty sockets stared back at him. Mike's heart jumped for a second, easing only when he registered the spare animatronics heads on the shelves around the room: some empty and hollow, and some still retaining their plastic eyes.

"Cheerful place," Mike muttered, shoving his prior discomfort aside.

In the middle of the room stood a wooden table, a spare endoskeleton sitting on the far end of it. The old machine held a dull silver shine. A lot of it looked human at first, with metal rods for bones serving as its arms and legs held together by metal joints. More of a frame was built around them, with ovular pieces that looked like thin cages around the limbs, obviously to help any animatronic costume placed on it to keep its shape. Its rib cage consisted of a series of flat pieces protruding out from the spine, tapering down from under the thing's elbows. Like its arms and legs, a sort of cage surround them to provide costume support. It had a squarish head, and a loose-hanging jaw. Wires protruded from key areas, which Mike suspected were to connect to the costume and keep it in place. Even looking at it from behind, he saw the large eye sockets jutting out from the skull. It had no ears protruding from it, allowing it to remain more human-looking than animal.

Against the far wall, he glimpsed boxes of what he presumed to be tools and spare animatronic parts. In the far right corner, he saw an exit door, and beside it, a rack of spare animatronic costumes, shoved against the shelf holding many of the spare masks - and, as Mike looked closer, extra gloves and feet. He turned to the other far corner, where he spotted a camera. He noticed a large space between the camera and the shelf, the space under the camera easily big enough to fit a card table. A fusebox was nestled in part of the empty space.

Mike carefully entered the room. He took a brisk walk around the table before stopping at the back shelf. Looking to the left, he noticed the camera disappeared behind it.

A blind spot?

His attention went back to the shelves, and the boxes of parts before him. Mike ran a hand over them, recalling why he came here to begin with. His heart picked up its pace as he pulled a box forward and gently rummaged through its contents, ignoring the dust and other signs of neglect.

_It's as good of a place to start as any_.

What was he even looking for? And what did he expect to find, when the worst of it didn't even happen here?

He pushed those doubts back as he looked through the box. Nothing but bolts, wires, and pieces he had no name for. Mike frowned as he shoved the box back into place, already regretting this.

_I have to try_.

As he reached for another box, a sudden noise caught him off-guard. Mike turned around as he looked for the source, finding himself directly staring at the endoskeleton sitting on the table. His heart jolted as he stepped back, his eyes locked locked with the thing's brown ones. They stared right at him, softened only by the metal eyelids pulled partially down over them. Mike swallowed hard as a glint of memory flashed in his mind, lost the second it came.

He knew those eyes.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Mike's chest panged with pain. The air around him suddenly grew thick and unbearable, leaving him hazy and disoriented. He tried to take a breath, but found his lungs stifled for a moment. Every muscle froze.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the air cleared. Mike let out a small breath, then shook his head. When the haze dissipated, he found himself still staring at the endoskeleton. He took another breath just to calm himself. Probably just dust from the shelves catching up to him. Mike forced up a small cough to ensure he cleared his lungs, before he recalled the sound he heard before. After pondering a moment, he recognized it as the cutesy door jingle. It took another moment to realize the janitor left the building, leaving him all by himself in the restaurant. His eyes caught the endoskeleton and masks behind it at the other end of the room, all of them staring ahead.

At _him_.

Like they watched his every move.

Mike glanced around the room, suddenly not liking that prospect. He quickly made his way out of the realm of disembodied limbs and staring eyes.

Upon leaving the backstage room, Mike grabbed his thermos from the table where he left it, then briskly strolled past the long line of video game cabinets, Pirate Cove, and then more video games, with three long party tables flanking his left side. A long hallway stretched before him, and to the left, one more thing of interest: a prize counter along the back wall.

The glass desk showcased prizes not even worth digging for at the bottom of a cereal box. Mike approached it, noticing the better prizes on the shelves behind the glass case, most of them plush toys of the franchise's characters. These, he disregarded in favor of a large blue-green present box with a purple ribbon snaking around it. It sat beside the prize counter and marked the crossroads between that and the hallway.

Mike set his thermos on the glass counter, then reached for the top of the box. Thin, nearly invisible wires barely cut through the split in the top, going all the way up to the ceiling. Using the wires as a guide, he ran his fingers along the ribbon leading to the front of the box, where he knew the flaps opened on either side. Carefully, he slipped his fingers underneath and pulled them open. At first, he was met with what he presumed to be emptiness, before he noticed the large black X neatly fitted in all four corners of the box, with glimmers of white underneath.

Carefully, Mike lifted the wooden X, the prop smoothly gliding up the clear wires toward the ceiling. He then reached down to gently pull up what lied underneath:

Long black strings, snaking down underneath the X.

They were attached to the wrists and head of a long and slender puppet with a black body.

Three large white buttons went down its thin, round chest, its forearms adorned with white stripes. Only three long fingers sprouted from each of its skeletal hands. Mike carefully lifted its ghostly face, looking into its empty black eyes and wide open smile. He glanced over the purple lines down its mask, the faint red lips, the red circles on its cheeks. It had striped stumps for feet, and if it stood tall, it might just reach the other animatronics' eyes.

_The top of the box opened. The cross rose above on the clear wires, pulling the Puppet up with it. It clutched a wrapped gift in its hands, and offered it to him_.

"...I remember you," Mike whispered.

Strange how this thing's eerie, spindly design never bothered him when he was younger. Like the band onstage, Mike experienced a sense of disillusionment with the Puppet, that a filter over his eyes lifted with age. He recalled the delight of several birthday parties spent here, the eager anticipation of waiting for the box to open for the birthday child to receive their gift. Even if for a brief moment, Mike smiled, letting the warm memories encompass him. He briefly tasted the moment of _being_ that child, to cheer for a friend getting their special present from Freddy and his friends.

The memories faded as he looked the Puppet over again. A strange chill ran through him as its eyes met his own. For a split second, white pinpricks appeared to light up in the back of the Puppet's sockets. A calm, quiet voice filled his mind:

_I remember you too_.

The thing's eyes became black and hollow again. Mike gasped and let go of the Puppet. It fell over the side and hung like a rag doll over the edge of its box. The large wooden X swayed above him, tugging at the strings and briefly lifting the Puppet's head and hands as Mike stepped away from it. His blood suddenly pounded in his ears, the remnants of the voice fading out of his mind.

Mike stayed back, keeping his eyes on the macabre marionette.

It..._remembered_?

He waited for his heart rate to normalize as he stared at the Puppet, treating it like a viper about to strike. The Puppet stilled after a moment, silent on its strings as it hung over the box.

"...The hell?" Mike whispered.

When he heard nothing, Mike hesitantly approached it again. He carefully lifted its face and stared into the mask, the empty eyes. Faintly, he saw the round edges of LED lights situated in the back of the sockets, and barely managed to pick out a blue tint in the glass.

Not white, like he saw a moment ago.

Mike blinked and looked it over again. He only saw his own shadow over the Puppet, and residual glints of dining room lights reflecting off the thing's weird mask. He watched it another moment to be sure, and when nothing happened, Mike carefully tucked the creepy thing back into its box and gently lowered its wooden X over it. He ensured the rigging was properly in place before he pulled the lid flaps back into place.

For a moment, he held the box shut, shuddering as his heart finally found its proper beat again. This place went from cheerful to downright creepy at night, and its current state conflicting with his childhood memories and old pain only made it worse. Whatever just happened...maybe his mind simply played tricks on him. Distorted the shadows, made him _think_ he heard it speak, that he simply imagined those creepy lights in its eye sockets.

He hoped.

The lights suddenly went out. Mike quickly glanced around.

The emergency lights let him see the rows of tables behind him, glints of the silver stars hanging above him and off the curtains. The hall leading into the bathrooms darkened, and he no longer saw the door to the back room.

Mike ran a final glance over the prize counter, then slowly pushed himself away from the box. He grabbed his thermos and took a last look around the dining room, at the tables with their party hats, at the crayon drawings on the walls, at the stage curtains with their silver stars faintly glimmering in the dim lights. With everything in its place, Mike headed back to the security office, going to the other end of the prize counter and down the other hall. He noted a small door marked as the manager's office, and two double doors with round windows that lead into the kitchen. An emergency light flickered above him as he walked down the hall.

The only light left came from his office, serving as a beacon to lead him inside.

Mike briefly glimpsed at his watch.

The green digits read 12:00am.


	2. First Night

**Monday, November 8, 1993**

The dim office bulb hardly lit the little security office. More drawings adorned the walls, with a large poster of Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica on stage, ready to play for the children. CELEBRATE, it said. Mike ignored the poster, more concerned with getting one of the many desk monitors to work. He settled into his swivel chair, allowing the desk fan to become dull background noise as he fiddled with the numerous security monitors in his office. Three of them didn't do anything. Three more turned on, but showed nothing on their screens. Mike grew frustrated that out of the seven old monitors sitting on the desk, only one of them worked properly, which meant he could only view one room at a time.

More than a little irritated, Mike got himself familiar with the angles around the building and the lousy camera feed. He noticed a few things, like the prize counter and the front door, had no cameras watching them, the latter more than the former concerning him. Furthermore, the kitchen camera didn't work at all, and he had no view of it - or the manager's office right beside it. Hopefully, no one tried to come in through the kitchen entrance. Not that there was really much to steal here, save for the large, bulky, and quite frankly distinct animatronics.

A few times, the cameras glitched to black, but the feed always came back a few seconds later. Hardly a surprise, given the state of the rest of the place. The lack of cheer showed even more on the cameras, with their muted colors and dark shadows. The animatronics on stage stood soullessly, with the camera angled on their faces in a way that hid their eyes and turned them into empty sockets.

Charming. Glad he took this job.

Mike noted the power gauge in the lower left-hand corner of the monitor.

99%.

Before he could question it, the phone rang.

"The hell?"

At this hour, no one should be calling. Mike picked it up anyway. Maybe his new boss had something he forgot to tell him, or was checking in to make sure he actually arrived.

"Hello," he said. "Mike Schmidt speaking."

"Hello, hello?"

Not a voice he heard before. Mike started to say something else, but the person on the other line kept talking.

"Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night."

Mike frowned and hit the speaker button. He had work to do. Long, boring work that paid jack all, but it was still work. He settled back in his seat and casually flipped through the camera views as the man on the phone prattled on about the job being overwhelming - what could _possibly_ be overwhelming about watching boring, creepy feeds for six hours? - and going into some sort of company greeting.

A thought entered his mind, of the rumors of this place. That Fazbear Entertainment's track record was far from spotless.

Of the things that had happened before.

That alone made him pay a little more attention, just as the man mentioned something about a missing person's report, and bleaching the carpets. It brought to mind things worth forgetting.

"...Don't," Mike muttered. "Stop fucking with me."

At least, he _hoped_ the man was just fucking with him. After giving himself those stupid scares with his reflection and the weird puppet thing, Mike decided the last thing he needed tonight was something else unnecessarily screwing with his mind.

He listened to the call as he looked over the cameras, morbidly fascinated at where the Phone Guy - not like the caller gave his name - was going with this. Mike shrugged off the bit about the animatronics getting "quirky" at night.

"So, just be aware, the characters do tend to wander a bit…"

"No shit," Mike muttered again. "They've _always_ walked on their own."

Come to think of it...he caught the last of the show after his interview earlier today. Not much about it changed since he last came here, but he specifically recalled from childhood that they came off the stage to interact with the birthday party afterwards. Now they just ended it and the curtains closed.

What changed?

Phone Guy answered his question a moment later.

"...But then there was The Bite of '87. Yeah. I-it's amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?"

Mike winced. His blood chilled. This was not something he took lightly, not when it was still something of a local sore spot. While six years' time dulled public interest, the circumstances and unanswered questions about that incident held a somber place in the hearts of many residents, himself in particular.

"You _fucker_," he said, darkly. "This _better_ not be a prank."

Phone Guy kept talking, obviously unable to hear Mike.

"Uh, now concerning your safety, the only real risk to you as a night watchman here, if any-"

"Pizza thieves?" Mike asked, sarcastically.

Mostly to keep the building tension at bay.

"-is the fact that these characters, uh, if they happen to see you after hours probably won't recognize you as a person. They'll p-most likely see you as a metal endoskeleton without its costume on. Now since that's against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, they'll probably try to...forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit."

"All right, points for creativity," Mike said. "I'm not fucking falling for it."

Even if those details put him on edge. Angered him, even. Phone Guy, however, wasn't finished.

"Um, now, that wouldn't be so bad if the suits themselves weren't filled with cross-beams, wires, and animatronic devices, especially around the facial area. So, you could imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort...and death. Uh, the only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again would be your eyeballs and teeth when they pop out the front of the mask, heh."

Mike looked at the phone, actually impressed. This guy was _really_ rolling with it. And it might have worked on someone who wasn't local, hadn't grown up with the restaurant, and hadn't had any knowledge of the _very_ real tragedies that surrounded Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

"Y-Yeah, they don't tell you these things when you sign up," Phone Guy said a bit somberly, before perking right back up. "But hey, first day should be a breeze. I'll chat with you tomorrow. Uh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright, good night."

"Night, jackass."

The phone recording stopped. Mike vaguely recalled the janitor and his cryptic belief that he'd be out by the end of the week. He wondered if that screwy phone call had anything to do with other people not sticking around. Knowing the rumors, that weird stint with the Puppet, and now this phone call..._was_ it a prank? A way to freak out the new guy and see if he turned tail and fled like the rest?

Or was it truly a warning?

And then that last bit, about saving power. Mike turned back to the camera, looking at the power gauge again.

Still at 99%.

And the doors...what doors?

Mike glanced over to the left entryway, and for the first time, noticed the door and light switches in the dingy light. Just to test them, he hit the buttons. The dark hallway lit up. The flickering fluorescents above messed with his vision. Hitting the door button brought down a large steel door, effectively locking him inside. Mike hit the switch again to release the magnetic locks, then turned back to the monitors. He checked the stage in time to notice Bonnie no longer stood in his place.

Mike's heart skipped a beat, but he found the large purple bunny a few seconds later, wandering around the dining room. Just a robot, he told himself. Just a machine programmed to entertain children and wander around the building after hours. Between the Puppet and the phone call, this place and its eeriness gradually burrowed under his skin.

The power gauge caught his attention, and it already dropped to 97%.

"That can't be right," Mike said, tapping at the glass screen in hopes of correcting a glitch. "I barely did anything!"

But the display remained the same.

Mike scowled a bit, thinking of Phone Guy's last bit of advice to close the doors only if necessary. Needed to save power and all that. But what was there to be afraid of? Overgrown children's toys?

The images of blood came back, and it took another moment to push the memory away.

Only an accident, he told himself. Only a one-time thing that became fodder for the rumors.

He adjusted the dial on the monitor to quickly check every room, before he settled back on the dining area. Bonnie still wandered aimlessly and wove around the tables. Occasionally, he stopped. His mechanical ears twitched not unlike a real rabbit's, as if he was listening for something, before dismissing it and continuing on his way. Sometimes, Bonnie nudged the party hats on the table, moving them just slightly more to the center. A glitch? Or was he making it perfect for the children when they arrived? Either way, without cheering children surrounding the animatronic, the whole scene looked..._wrong._

Unnatural.

Mike began to understand Phone Guy's statement about the job being overwhelming. Watching these things in a quiet building, out of their entertainment context all night - this place had a way of messing with his head after a while. He hit a small button on the monitor to turn it off for a moment. Just needed to look away, let his eyes rest a few seconds. Clear his thoughts, then get back to it.

The dining room came back into view as he flipped the monitor back on, with Bonnie still wandering about aimlessly.

* * *

Over the next two hours, only Bonnie left his spot and remained in the dining room. In that time, Mike noticed that turning the monitor off here and there kept the power gauge from dropping too drastically. In those moments, he sipped at his coffee or listened to the droll sounds of the building: the buzz of the light overhead, the quiet droning of the fan, the faint metallic _tinks _and _tings_ he swore came from Bonnie, a strange sort of lurching sound from somewhere in the building.

He also took a look around the office, at the drawings sitting in front of him, at a duplicate of Chica's cupcake sitting on top of the broken monitor pile, at the little windows on either side of him. Mike found he had just enough space behind him to kick the desk chair against the wall and stretch his legs. Both of the back corners in the halls were as empty as the space under the desk. Even more children's drawings were tacked on the walls, along with a rules poster and professional posters of the Fazbear band.

Mike turned the monitor back on to his heart thudding at the sight of the empty dining room.

Don't panic, he told himself. Stay calm. There weren't many rooms connecting the dining room; Bonnie couldn't have gone far.

The rabbit didn't go back to the stage, the bathroom hall was empty...god, was he in one of the two halls just outside his office? Mike bit back the sudden feeling of paranoia as he pulled up the west hall on the camera. He watched the flickering emergency lights for a moment and tried to determine if something stood in the shadows.

All he picked out were ten children's drawings clustered together, the open hall closet door, and the light above. The only weird thing that got his attention was that hidden among the drawings of smiling families, balloons, animatronics, and cake, there was a headshot of Bonnie colored in with yellow instead of purple. It left his mind as he continued his search for the real one.

Mike further cursed the cameras' tendency to glitch out now and again, having to turn the monitor off for a few seconds, then on again in an attempt to fix it. After determining he was just seeing things, he tried again to find the robot. Mike gave a quick glance at the east hall before he finally remembered the back room with all the creepy masks.

Sure enough, Bonnie wandered in there. The sight of the robotic rabbit startled him a little. The shadows silhouetted the animatronic save for his eyes, teeth, and metal joints between the suit pieces. God, as if that room wasn't creepy enough.

Bonnie just kept walking. He circled the table a few times, then looked over the shelves. At one point, he stood in front of one, his arms moving, but Mike couldn't tell what he was doing. When Bonnie turned away, a mask that had fallen to its side now sat upright again. The rabbit examined the endoskeleton after, then left without issue.

Mike blinked a few times, then breathed a sigh of relief. The dining room felt...well, as close to normal as tonight could be.

Back to wandering. Back to the little routine Bonnie liked to walk in. Back to the feeling of relative safety, knowing that the weird robot was far away from him.

_There's nothing to fear,_ Mike reminded himself. _It's just the shadows and the shitty camera feed_.

But _damn_ did that freak him out for a moment. Everything in the back room looked too..._surreal_, and he half-hoped Bonnie stayed in the dining room.

Stayed in the light, where he could watch the animatronic without the dark distortion of shadows.

Another small break from the monitors. Another moment to calm himself down, sip at his coffee, get back to it. Mike glanced to the halls at either side of him. He briefly considered leaving the office to explore a little more, but nixed the idea when he realized that aside from the back room, nothing here was worth exploring.

Maybe the manager's office, but he suspected it was locked.

Mike checked the cameras again. Freddy and Chica still stood in their places onstage. The curtains at Pirate Cove remained closed, which made Mike wonder - did Foxy even _work_? Was that camera simply a remnant from his working days, and now just served to make sure no one broke in and messed with him?

He had to admit, he kind of hoped that was the case. Bonnie looked creepy enough in the dark, and just imagining Foxy in that back room, looking like some of sort of robotic animal zombie…

_Cologne and cigarettes under his nose._

_Glowing eyes staring back._

Mike quickly shoved the thought back. He made a quick check of the time and the power gauge before he turned the monitor off.

2:41am and 72%.

Not even halfway through the night, and with more than half the power. Mike tried not to think about that weird phone call again. About needing to conserve power. About how he may need to close the doors. About what the animatronics would do if they caught him.

Mike scoffed. No need to give that stupid story any credence. No need to freak himself out again.

He turned the monitor back on and noted Bonnie disappeared again. Damn, that old robot was quick! He didn't waste time checking around, just immediately flipped to the back room...and jumped in his seat as the behemoth bunny stared _right up_ into the camera.

"Oh, Jesus fuck! _Why?!_"

The shadows in the back room turned Bonnie's normally smiling face into a demonic visage straight from his nightmares. The plastic red eyes disappeared in the shadows, showing only dark sockets with two tiny white pinpricks that stared right into his soul. The open jaws looked less like he was about to sing and more...like he was _groaning_.

...Or trying to call for help.

Mike turned off the monitor solely to stop looking at Bonnie's distorted face.

God, it felt like the rabbit looked _right _at him. Like…

...Like Bonnie knew he was there.

_That's fucking crazy,_ Mike thought. _They're big robots. He probably just wandered in the camera view, and the shadows did the rest_.

The night's phone call came to mind.

_So, I know it can be a bit overwhelming,_ Phone Guy said before_. I'm here to tell you there's nothing to worry about. Uh, you'll do fine. So, let's just focus on getting you through your first week. Okay?_

"I'm starting to see what he meant," Mike whispered. "How long did this guy last before?"

Did he get used to it? Learn how the animatronics moved, and how to pick them out from the shadows?

Mike turned the monitor back on, relieved to find Bonnie no longer lurked in that room, though the empty heads with their emptier eyes chilled his blood.

Flip back to the dining room. That's where he went, right?

Yes, there's his ears up in front of the camera. He's back in his routine, but this time, he's not alone.

Another one finally decided to move.

Chica's wide purple eyes and open beak caught him off-guard for a moment, but Mike sniggered when he fully took her in. The expression, while distorted in the dark, looked almost _goofy_, with an exaggerated, over-the-top, "HI THERE!" seemingly coming from her beak.

Admittedly, he needed the laugh.

Mike watched the robots for a moment. Bonnie kept his same pattern, but Chica seemed to step in time with him, keeping mostly to the other side of the room, her beak loosely hanging open as she walked. Now that she decided to join in, the wandering didn't bother him as much. They kept pace, weaving around the tables and stepping in time almost in a kind of dance.

Probably a part of their programming.

A quick glance to the others showed Freddy remained in position. The curtains at Pirate Cove stayed still. Only two of them wandered the building right now, and he accounted for both.

Turn the monitor off again. Save power. Try to be prepared if the damn things wander too close to the cameras.

And hope the shadows in the building don't make them look like demons.

Mike heard footsteps approaching. He turned the monitor on to find both the rabbit and the chicken left the dining room. Instinctively, he checked the back room, and let out a small breath of relief to find it empty. No creepy silhouettes or stares here, but he needed to find them. A flip through the cameras showed Chica wandered near the bathrooms, her face almost in profile as she walked away from the camera view. The light glinted from her purple eyes, giving that same dead-eyed effect he caught in Bonnie earlier, only this time, he could still somewhat make out her plastic eyes.

Mike tried to decide if this was more or less creepy.

_Fine,_ he told himself. _She's accounted for. Find Bonnie_.

After another few camera changes, he found him in the backstage area. Bonnie barely stood in the left of the camera view, and from his posture, appeared to be looking at the masks again. Mike glanced down at the power level.

65%. A glance to his watch told him it was 3:04am.

Fucking rabbit made him paranoid. Mike turned off the monitor again, and sipped from his coffee.

_Just three more hours,_ he thought. _Halfway there, with still more than half the power_.

* * *

Another two hours passed, and remained more or less uneventful, save for the lights flickering on occasion. As Mike predicted, Bonnie headed back into the dining room when he got tired of the backstage area. Freddy remained onstage, and Chica circled around the bathrooms and dining room, sometimes joining Bonnie in their routine and sometimes wandering around at her leisure. Neither of the animatronics seemed to leave the main area for very long; so far as he could tell, they seemed to prefer the dining room, and only occasionally wandered to adjoining areas.

Mike wondered if it was programming or a glitch, but Bonnie seemed to prefer going into the back room, and only went near the bathrooms once. Chica completely stayed on the right side of the restaurant save for when she patrolled the tables with Bonnie. Maybe when they were allowed to walk during the day, it was their "job" to check those areas for stray children? Keep them safe?

He shrugged and settled back in his seat.

It seemed as good an explanation as any, and with only one hour left and no movement from the other two, he doubted much change from the routine. Might as well just shut the monitor off and be done for the night.

Mike settled back in his seat to finish off his coffee. He grimaced at the taste now that it went cold. The more he watched the animatronics and got used to them, the more he felt like cursing Phone Guy out, though the bastard was probably long gone by now. The jerk freaked him out for no reason; not a single one of the animatronics got anywhere near his office in the five hours he had been here. Mike literally spent most of the night watching Bonnie and Chica "dance" in the dining room, with an occasional scare that came because the cameras glitched out, or one of the robots happened to be in _just_ the right spot to make him nearly piss himself.

Speaking of…

The manager told him not to leave the office after midnight. And the Phone Guy's warning about what they might do if he got caught came to mind.

Dare he risk it? Just run down to the bathrooms and run back?

_They're just rumors_, Mike thought. _Stories_.

But his gut knotted, giving him the clear message to stay put. Particularly when the sudden thoughts of blood on the checkered floor crossed his mind.

Mike shoved the memories back into their dark cage where he could ignore them again and shook his head. Things changed since then.

...Hadn't they?

_Fuck it,_ Mike thought.

He glanced at the cameras, watching the animatronics. Bonnie dipped off towards the back room again. Chica walked alone in the dining room. With as good as an opportunity as any, Mike slipped out into the east hall. He kept his footsteps quiet and careful to not attract attention as he passed the kitchen, then the tiny manager's office.

Mike reached the end of the hall and carefully peered around the corner into the dining room. Chica marched on the other side of the room.

_In and out_, he reminded himself.

He dared to take a few steps into the room.

And heard a sharp metal _creak_.

Mike turned to see Chica looking right at him. Her old black eyelids lowered in a slow blink, then shot back up as she stared. She stepped towards him, her large, padded feet hitting the floor with more grace and gentleness than he expected from a machine of her size.

He ran back down the hall, daring to look back only once.

Chica's purple eyes glowed at the end of it, illuminating her rounded beak, bright bib, and open maw. Mike slid back into the office and fumbled for the door switch. Only when the door slid down in place and clicked shut did he even attempt to relax.

_You knew better_, he chided himself. _Trust your instincts_.

Mike looked over at the monitor. A big yellow form now wandered the dining room again. Safe again, he hit the door switch, then carefully moved to take his seat.

Already, his mind attempted to explain what he just saw, that Chica appeared to follow him. And more than that, looked right _at_ him.

Maybe...maybe the robots didn't have night vision and relied on their programming to guide them? That she didn't actually _see_ him, but heard something there? Yes, that made some sense; the only items he saw any of them directly interact with were the party hats, and those were lit up by the dining room's emergency lights. The animatronics were also big, and, as both of them proved, _quick_. They could accidentally trample him if he wasn't careful, and it'd be his own damn fault.

Just a safety concern, was all. Probably better to just play it safe and stay here like the manager told him to do. Just...fuck. Could he wait another hour?

Mike glanced around the office, and noticed an empty soda cup on the desk.

...No, he decided. He wasn't _that_ desperate. Just...try not think about it.

Turn the monitor back on.

Watch Bonnie and Chica do their silly little dance.

This is normal.

Things are fine.

Stay calm.

But no matter what he told himself, Mike couldn't bite back the unnerving feeling that stayed with him all night. That Chica really _did_ follow him. That something about this place just felt..._wrong_.

* * *

The last hour dragged on longer than the rest of the night. Bonnie and Chica each took a turn leaving to go backstage or the bathrooms, respectively. Of them, only Chica managed to freak him out again. Just like he caught Bonnie with that dead-eyed stare in the back room, Chica walked toward the camera from the bathrooms, her face angled up to it, her loose jaw hanging open.

That shocked him more than seeing Bonnie backstage. With Bonnie, he easily brushed it off as the animatronic simply walking too close. With Chica, he noticed her purple eyes actually _tilted up_ to look directly at him, and her smiling beak opened menacingly.

Ready to _bite_.

Mike changed the camera again. Her face combined with her "LET'S EAT!" bib were too much to take in at the moment, particularly after his near-miss.

The relief at seeing her in the normal dining room light with Bonnie, her smile looking friendly and goofy again, almost felt like gratitude. The minutes ticked by slowly after that, each one stretching by with wound tension.

The rest of his coffee sat on his desk, ignored. Other needs took a backseat as he watched the cameras, turned the monitor off and on, tried not to freak out when the cameras glitched, and located the two animatronics when they wandered off. He no longer even thought about Pirate Cove or the stage show with nothing going on in either camera view. The dining room, backstage, and bathrooms all took greater priority.

A loud beeping sound made him jolt. It took a moment to realize the sound came from his watch, alerting him to the end of his shift. On the camera, he watched Bonnie and Chica stop their little dance and immediately head back for the stage.

For a moment, Mike just stared in silence, not even noticing the shuddering breath of relief. Flipping to the stage camera, he saw Bonnie stood in his place to Freddy's stage right with his retrieved guitar, Chica at his left with her cupcake. The morning light from the front windows shone on the trio, banishing some of the shadows from their faces to make them look normal and cheery again.

Mike stared at them for a long, silent moment. A nervous laugh worked its way up his throat, until it became relieved joy as he laughed at himself at how stupid the whole thing felt. Maybe the rumors he heard were just a prank played on new employees that simply got out of hand. A prank where the only true credence came from how creepy everything looked at night and the local lore mixed in with a few horrible truths. And everything that happened earlier, with his reflection and the Puppet? Just his mind believing those stupid rumors for even a moment.

The only part Mike found no humor in was the Bite of '87. That actually happened, and he still found it to be in extremely poor taste for a prank.

He sipped his coffee and shut off the monitor, suddenly feeling a lot better about this.

What happened before...Mike decided not to worry about it. He grabbed his thermos, and, finally free to do so, made a mad dash for the bathrooms. So long as he learned to get used to this place's weirdness at night, he could handle it.

He hoped.


	3. Vanna

**Monday, November 7, 1993**

Mike walked up to his apartment, keys in one hand, thermos in the other, and ready to crawl into bed and be done with today. The night and its weirdness drained a lot out of him, and while he was convinced that damn phone call was a joke, everything about the previous night set him on edge.

"Hey, Mike!"

Mike winced when he heard his name, completely snapped out of his thoughts for a moment. He looked up to see a tall Amazon of a woman approaching him, and gave a weary smile to his next-door neighbor - and best friend - who was getting in at the same time.

Vanna Belrose had her hand up in a wave, her long fingernails almost brushing against the ceiling. The overhead lights caught her strange yellow skin, giving it the dull sheen of antique gold that reverted to olive the moment she stepped out from directly under the light. Bright purple lips grinned at him. She had her long black hair pulled up into a ponytail, with the front of it teased on top. Her open red coat showed black clothes that blurred together from her top to her boots. As she got closer, he noted the words, "The Sanctuary" in white gothic text over her robust chest.

Mike returned her smile, forgetting the weariness of the previous night for a moment.

"Hey, Vanna. How was the club?"

"Eh, same old. Ran out of glassware halfway through; Felix actually had to run out and buy plastic cups so we could keep serving drinks."

She teasingly set her elbow on his shoulder as she looked him over. At 6'1", Vanna towered over him, even without the two-inch boost from her boots. Mike shook his head, letting her have her fun. If it were anyone else, he would have slugged them. Vanna noticed his outfit, and her grin somehow got bigger.

"Say, did you get a new job?"

Mike slipped out from under her and quickly fumbled for his front door key.

"I-it's nothing special," he said, wanting to drop the subject. "Night guard. Tired. Gotta go."

"Whoa, hold on there." Vanna leaned against his doorway, her green eyes looking right into his. "This is big news! Come on, Mike, details! Where are you stationed at?"

"Just...some place downtown."

Vanna pouted as she put her hands on her hips.

"Party pooper," she said, before she caught a small glint of gold at his chest...and a familiar logo.

Vanna reached to grip his shoulder and gave him a gentle push to turn his body so she could see it better. Mike realized half a second too late what she was doing. He reached up to cover the badge with his hand, but his friend already caught the familiar face of Freddy Fazbear embossed on it.

"Freddy Fazbear's Pizza?" she asked. "Aww, that's so cute! Never actually been there, though."

Her expression softened as she leveled her face to his.

"Surprised you took it, considering..."

Mike ignored her. He turned away as he got the front door open.

"It's work," he muttered, trying to head inside.

"Mike! Hey!"

Vanna moved in front of the door to block him. Merely shifting her hips to one side of the door frame kept him from passing her.

"I'm pretty sure you have your reasons," she said softly. "...Just be careful, okay?"

Mike turned away. He gave a quick, curt nod to acknowledge, and dropped the subject. Vanna nodded back, and when he looked up again, she gave him what she presumed to be an encouraging smile. She stepped towards him and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Come on, let's go get some coffee and donuts. My treat. I'll even let you get out of uniform first."

Mike smirked a bit, even let out a small laugh. After the night he had...that actually sounded amazing.

"All right," he said. "Meet you back in ten minutes?"

"Deal."

Vanna dug out her own keys. She gave him a small wave as she went inside to change herself. Mike waited until her door shut, then let out a deep breath. The only thing he knew he'd tell her was he watched some cameras. Nothing special. Just go out and enjoy the morning with his best friend, then try to get some rest for tonight.

* * *

A little before 7:30am at the Dainty Donut Cafe, Mike snagged the coveted corner booth in the back as a small family left, while Vanna ordered a variety box and two lattes. The little shop bore a turn-of-the-century charm, with cream walls and brown accents. The large red booths tucked into the walls gave the place a pop of color, like a cherry on a sundae. A few wooden tables were scattered around the room, over the light wood floors leading up to the donut-filled display counter.

Most other customers came in to grab breakfast and go, but enough patrons filled the booths and small tables to make the place feel lived in and warm as they settled down for breakfast before eight and nine o'clock shifts. The baristas behind the counter quickly got donuts, breakfast items, and coffee together, and the sweet smells of sugar, cream, and coffee beans permeated the whole shop.

Vanna returned with the donut box, then went back to collect the large mugs holding their lattes. She returned after a moment and set one down before Mike, then took her seat with her own mug in the soft leather booth. The warmth of the sun gently hit Mike's hands as he reached for a donut, the shade from the red awning outside and Vanna's form in front of him protecting his eyes. He hardly noticed how chilled his fingers had become on the walk over until he touched the hot ceramic.

"...So it's really just sitting there for six hours and watching a camera feed?" Vanna asked, having asked about his job as they walked over. "Bummer."

Mike sipped his coffee, appreciating the care this particular shop put into their lattes. He now wore old jeans and a soft, comfortable faded black T-shirt with a light jacket over it.

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "Haven't found anything worthwhile there yet."

"Not to pry," Vanna said, "but I thought it was just work?"

Mike just continued to drink his coffee. Vanna frowned, but took the hint and dropped the subject. She dipped her jelly donut into her own latte - a cardinal sin in Mike's book - and bit into it. She had changed from her own work clothes into a pair of jeans, an overly-large purple sweater that almost perfectly matched her wild lipstick, and a pair of silver Doc Martens that shone with rainbows in the light. Mike always wondered where she found them.

"In the meantime," Vanna said, "you get a free show every night."

She took a slug of her donut-tainted coffee.

"Shame it's always the same episode where nothing happens, though."

Mike had been halfway through another sip. He choked out something he hoped to pass off as a laugh as he tried not to spit it out.

"Y-yeah," he managed after a moment. "Just watching Freddy and friends walk around in the dark. Not gonna lie; it's kind of creepy."

"I'll bet," Vanna said, shoving the last of her donut in her mouth.

She practically swallowed the donut piece whole before continuing.

"I thought they didn't walk since that incident a few years ago. Where he...?"

Vanna deliberately trailed off, giving Mike the choice of whether to continue or end that subject. He went quiet, not wanting to talk about it, and less so after the weird phone call last night. Mike briefly nodded to confirm before directing the conversation away from the horror.

"...Different location," he said, taking a sudden interest in the swirls of his coffee, "not the one I'm at now. But I guess they wanted to be sure it-"

Mike carefully picked up the cup. He held it in his hands to let the residual heat warm them.

"-Didn't happen again."

He hardly noticed his friend sobered herself, or the sudden silence between them.

"...Makes sense," Vanna said, noting his sudden discomfort.

She cleared her throat.

"I've always wanted to go," she said, "but my mother refused. A little girl disappeared near there. She was always really paranoid after that."

Mike frowned.

"Understandable," he said. "Mom and Dad took me all the time, before their accident. Mom was better at the games than I was, but I liked beating them myself. It always felt more rewarding after I finally had enough tickets to trade in."

Vanna nodded.

"Anyway," Mike said, wanting off the subject, "anything fun happen last night?"

"Aside from running out of glassware?" Vanna asked. "Nah, except this one guy who wouldn't leave me alone. Asshole looked right at my crotch and asked if I was just as big 'in there' as I was outside. I looked him straight in the eye and told him his little needle would get lost an inch in."

Mike set his coffee down solely so he wouldn't choke on it. Vanna took a sip of her own before she continued.

"Fucker looked crushed, but he still wouldn't quit. So I slammed my hands on the bar. The whole damn thing shook. Everyone's looking, and I told him if he came onto me again, I'd take him outside and snap it like the twig it was. He called me an uptight dyke, and I nearly creamed him then and there, but Paul stepped in and told him to cut it out."

"Wait, who's Paul?" Mike asked.

"Remember the big, bald biker I turned down?" Vanna said. "The one I was kind of nervous about saying no to, but he was really chill about it?"

"Right," Mike said, nodding. "Cool guy."

"I know," Vanna said with a grin. "He's kind of become my bodyguard against creeps when he's in. Felix should really hire him on."

She took a sip of her coffee.

"Anyway," she said, "once Paul got involved, he finally slunk away. Fucker should have just listened the first time, but I gave Paul his next beer on the house, so it worked out."

"Sorry," Mike said, not sure what else to say to that.

"Eh, I'm used to it," Vanna said. "Normally, guys are intimidated by me and don't bother. I mean, I get my share of creeps, but I found guys just don't like girls who tower over them."

"I don't mind," Mike said.

"You're also not trying to get in my pants."

Vanna sipped her coffee.

"I kinda thank my freak genetics for that," she said. "If I scare them off first, I don't have to bother with explaining that I'm not interested in that kind of thing at all, no matter which side of the fence."

Mike smirked a bit.

"I like having you as a friend," he said. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

"You too," Vanna said. "Even if you _are_ a little shrimp."

Mike snorted.

"That's a lot coming from the Eiffel Tower."

"How are the worms down there?" Vanna teased.

"Wondering if you're a walking mountain," Mike shot back.

"Yeah, well, rumor has it you like visiting them."

Vanna smirked and mussed his hair. Mike grimaced as he fixed it. After another sip of coffee, Vanna set the joking aside.

"...You're _sure_ you're okay with this job, Mike?" she asked. "After...well…"

She trailed off, once more letting him choose how to broach the subject. Mike sipped at his coffee, not facing her.

"...I'm handling it," he said at last.

Vanna nodded.

"If it gets to be too much, you can come to me," she said.

"I know."

"And if you don't come to me," she warned, "I'll come to you."

Mike just nodded. A wistful look crossed Vanna's face.

"...Can you believe it's almost been five years?" she asked.

"Since when?"

"Since we met," Vanna said. "It was towards the end of this month. I went to get the mail, and came back to crash into some poor sap who mistook his apartment for the one next door."

Mike faltered a little, but quickly pulled up a smirk.

"You wouldn't let me leave until I had two cups of coffee."

"You needed it," Vanna said, smiling fondly.

"And then you adopted me like some kind of lost puppy."

"You needed a friend too," Vanna said, lifting her mug to her lips, "and I damn well wasn't going to let you mope about."

Mike pushed back the sudden pang of sadness with a shake of his head as he grabbed another donut.

"Stubborn bitch," he muttered, a small smile on his lips.

"Damn right." Vanna offered her mug to Mike. "To five years of me strong-arming my way into your life."

"And to five more of me putting up with it," Mike said, clinking his mug against hers. They both laughed before they both polished off what was left of their coffee. Mike set the mug down and started to stand.

"I'm going to go get a refill," he said.

Vanna was already out of her seat and holding his empty mug.

"Don't you dare, Michael Schmidt. This is my treat; you keep your ass parked right there, and _I'll_ go get a refill."

"Fine," Mike said, sitting back down.

He actually managed a laugh.

"But we're coming back, and I'm covering when I get paid this week."

Vanna smirked and picked up her own mug to take to the counter.

"Deal."

She turned from the booth then, her long ponytail swaying behind her, her bright shoes shimmering with each step as they caught the light.

* * *

The morning with Vanna went pretty smoothly once they both refueled with caffeine. Mike kept the conversation away from Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, and instead they talked about music, gossip from the Sanctuary, and whether or not they wanted to see that new Tim Burton film with the freaky Christmas toys that came out the previous month. By the time they finished their coffee and got up to leave, the entire booth felt warm in the morning sun, swept away by November gust the second they opened the door.

Mike lazily zipped up his jacket, the old thing providing only slightly more warmth than his work uniform, not that he ever truly noticed the chill. Vanna pulled her sweater tighter against her body as they walked. The little shop was hardly three blocks away from their building. On the way, they passed a newspaper stand where Mike took a small detour just to grab the day's paper.

It never hurt to check, after all.

They reached the apartment building not long after, and headed up the stairs to the fourth floor.

"Thanks for breakfast," Mike said, getting the door leading into the apartment hallway.

"No problem!" Vanna said cheerfully.

She reached up in a stretch, holding the pose for a few seconds before stepping through. Mike followed her. Dim lights lit up the spaces between the apartment doors, some of them flickering and sputtering with a longing to be replaced. Faded green carpet sank under their feet, and the graying walls became yellow right where the hall lights jutted out. Something about them felt oddly homey and lived in as they passed their neighbor's doors.

"Any plans for today?" Mike asked Vanna as they approached their own.

"I'm gonna hit the gym and work off some of this energy," Vanna replied. "Then it's a shower and bedtime for this night owl."

"Long night ahead?" Mike asked.

"Yeah," Vanna replied. "Maybe we should switch jobs for a night. Give my feet a break."

"Bore you to death while you're at it."

That got her to laugh, and he laughed with her, the joyful sounds filling the hallway as they reached their respective apartments and bid each other goodbye.

As soon as Vanna disappeared into her home, Mike's smile faded. Truthfully, he wasn't sure how he felt about going to work tonight, but he knew some of that caffeine-fueled energy would be spent washing and ironing his work clothes, tidying up his apartment, and looking through the bills he'd been ignoring. But first, he needed to check the day's paper for job listings. Freddy's was a start, and the first thing he found in a long time, but it wouldn't hurt to get a second job if he could.

Mike settled back into the couch. He quick glanced to the small stack of envelopes on the old coffee table before him. A pink envelope sat on top of the stack, covering less important bills. He mentally reminded himself to give it to Vanna later. On the bottom, the corner of an envelope poked out from under the bills, showing the name, "Moira" and part of a return address. Mike pulled it out from under the stack. The postmark showed it was sent almost three weeks ago.

Normally, he welcomed and even looked forward to his foster mother's letters. Though she and her husband, Ronan, only lived on the other side of town, Moira enjoyed writing to him at least once a month.

His chest panged with guilt as he realized he hadn't written back, visited, or even called in about a month. Despite it, Mike knew he would fall into his usual pattern of ignoring them until he came by for Christmas, when the pain faded enough that he could sweep the past under a bittersweet rug of holiday cheer. Moira and Ronan would then accept his return with warm smiles, open arms, and an unspoken agreement to resume their relationship as if there was never any long silence between Halloween and Christmas.

It was how their family survived the last five years.

Mike shoved the letter under the stack of envelopes to hide it, then grabbed the cigarette pack and lighter sitting beside the stack. He lit up a smoke, then opened the paper, immediately flipping over to the job listings. There was still an ad for the night shift at the pizzeria. That combined with Moira's letter jogged his memory. Mike pushed himself from the couch and headed into his bedroom.

Much like the rest of his apartment, his bedroom barely held more than what he needed. His bed was shoved in the back corner just under the window, with a bedside table holding a lamp. On the other side of the room, a large dresser sat against the wall. The closet hung open, showing the boxes, his sneakers, and a few clothing items shoved on hangers. Above the bed and bedside table, morning light made it beyond the slivers of the shades. The only other real signs of life were the boombox on the dresser, the stacks of cassette tapes beside it, and two band posters.

Mike trudged over to the closet and got down on his knees. He glanced over the boxes, none of them properly labeled, but he knew by the size, shape, and logos which one held the contents he needed. After a bit of shifting, he located an old beer box and pulled it open.

Bright yellow caught his eye first. Mike smiled a little as he grabbed for it. He pulled out an old Chica toy, still practically brand new. Her purple plastic eyes shone brightly, and a warm smile lit up her beak. A plump pink cupcake was sewn onto her right hand. Around her middle and hidden under her bib, some of her plush started to sink in from being tightly snuggled. Mike's lower lip trembled a bit. He made Chica face the wall as he set her aside. This wasn't what he was looking for.

A few more items joined her: an old tape recorder and some spare tapes, a few framed pictures which he set facedown to avoid looking at the subjects, a few small childhood toys, some old books and papers. In the bottom of the box, he struck gold, and pulled out the treasure he sought:

A leather journal, old and worn.

Mike's hands trembled as he held it, the leather cool under his touch. He started to pull the cover back. On the first aged _crick_, he quickly shut it again. Mike took a breath. He had no right to look.

What if he came back?

Yet the journal warmed in his grip, almost inviting him to try again.

Mike closed his eyes to mentally prepare himself for what he might find. The journal crackled open in his hands. Indents of a pen sunk under his fingertips, and the smell of paper and ink gently caressed his nose. Mike barely dared to open his eyes, to see what entry awaited him.

_-reminds me too much of that dark closet Richie locked me in. Those hot, heavy coats and god knows what else that fell on me, and how I couldn't move or breathe for...I don't know, honestly. Long enough that it's never left me. I __really_ _thought I was going to die that night. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for it. I can barely sleep with a blanket over my shoulders. Anything further than that, and I can't breathe_-

Mike slammed the journal shut again, unable to take in any more of the handwriting. His entire body shook as he shoved it back in the box and hastily packed it back up again.

Even after six years, he wasn't ready for this. Those private thoughts should have remained such.

Mike threw the Chica toy back on top of the knick-knack pile and pushed the still-open box into the back of the closet. He then scrambled to his feet. His household chores suddenly became more appealing.


	4. Only Toys

_**Summer 1978**_

_Mike tightened his grip as they walked, unsure of where they were going. As promised, he kept his eyes closed, with a hand over them as a double assurance that he wouldn't peek._

"_How much farther?" Mike asked._

"_We're almost there," came a voice only slightly older than his own nine years, with a soft Irish brogue._

_Mike frowned, but kept going. After a few more moments, they stopped._

"_Okay, you can open your eyes now!"_

_Mike let go of his friend's hand and did as he said. They stood in the parking lot in front of a white building, with a large purple stripe and silver stars circling the top. A smiling bear in a top hat looked down at them. Mike winced a bit, taking a step back. He warily looked up to his friend._

"_...Why did you bring me here?" Mike asked._

"_...Because you were sad," came the answer. "I just thought…"_

_Mike stared ahead at the front doors, where light and movement shone from inside the building. An uneasy silence lingered between them from the an unintentional wrong his friend committed._

"_...Doesn't this place make you happy?"_

_Mike, lost in his own thoughts, didn't answer that question immediately. His companion shifted uncomfortably._

"_We don't have to go in if you don't want to," he friend said. "I just thought-"_

_"We can go in," Mike said at last._

_He forced up a smile._

"_You're right. This place _does _make me happy."_

_He offered his hand, and felt the warmth of another's fingers curling into his palm. Together, they entered the building._

* * *

**Monday, November 8, 1993**

Mike pulled up to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza at a quarter til midnight. He parked his car beside an old green truck. Mike looked up at the white and purple building with its flickering sign and dirty windows. He snuffed out the remnants of a cigarette, grabbed his thermos, and slipped out of his car, making sure to lock it behind him - not that he had anything of value inside. The car itself was an old '83 Suzuki FX, and showed its age with the chipping light blue paint and the dents in the sides. Despite its appearance, Mike kept it in good working order.

He glanced behind him, taking in his car sitting near the front door. The flickering sign above highlighted the blue color, the empty seats, the sense of abandonment as it sat there alone.

Mike ignored the eerie sense of déjà vu and turned away. He searched his keys for the building ones, once more biting back old fears and superstition. The talk with Vanna earlier had helped ease his trepidation about the place, along with the knowledge of how smoothly things went last night. The stupid jingle played as he entered. Mike walked past the hostess stand to get into the dining room. Like before, he had company for a few minutes.

The janitor came from the west hall, having just put the mop away in the supply closet and emptied the water bucket. The elder man whistled a little ditty as he brought some more party hats to the tables. He stopped whistling and perked when he noticed Mike there.

"Heh. First night's always easy, ain't it, kid?"

Mike frowned.

"Yeah, I got your damn phone call. Very fucking funny."

The janitor gave him a strange look.

"Don't know nothing about that."

"Sure you don't."

"Really, kid," the janitor scoffed, his voice cracked and gruff. "I just come in at ten to tidy up and leave when the night shift gets in. I don't like to stick around longer'n I have to."

He carefully set the hats on one of the tables, filling out the spaces that didn't have any.

"All I know is folks tend to quit before the week's out," the janitor continued. "Almost like clockwork, they're gone before their third night."

Mike eyed him warily. The weirdness from the previous night hadn't left his mind. The janitor shrugged and gave him a poignant look.

"No point in gettin' close when there's gonna be a new face in two days anyway," he said softly.

Mike just shook his head.

"Whatever," he said, setting his thermos on one of the tables before grabbing his flashlight. "Play your stupid game. I've got work to do."

"You do that, kid."

Mike ignored him and headed for the bathrooms, having learned his lesson from last night. Take care of business there first, _then_ check the rest of the building. He barely heard the jingle over the running water as he washed his hands, indicating he was the only breathing soul left her.

As Mike grabbed a paper towel, his mind flashed briefly to the last time he was here all those years ago.

Of remembered panic, and old pain in his right arm.

Of gold.

Mike tossed the paper towels into the trash can, then briefly touched his wrist where he still bore an old scar. He absentmindedly ran his fingers up his forearm to where he felt another one under the fabric of his purple shirt. He pushed the thought back as he left the boys' bathroom.

It was done; he had work to do.

Mike took a quick peek into the girls' bathroom to make sure no one was hiding inside, then headed down the east hall to quickly scan the kitchen and the tiny manager's office. He made an attempt to open it and found it locked. Mike frowned, half-hoping he could have explored it, but shook his head as he went to the security room, cycling through it to the west hall, making a brief stop at the hall closet, and heading back into the dining room. Upon his return, Mike quickly checked the back room. He came back still feeling unnerved about it, but finishing his checks at the stages and the prize counter revealed he was alone save for the robotic animals and the Puppet.

His solitude confirmed, Mike retrieved his thermos and went back to the office.

* * *

**Tuesday, November 9, 1993**

Mike barely settled in his seat, the monitor off for the moment. No need to waste power right now. Chances were good it would just be Bonnie and Chica wandering the dining room again. The cupcake watched him from its perch on top of the monitors. Mike gave it no further notice.

He perked a bit when the phone rang. Mike rolled his eyes to hit the speaker button, already knowing who would be calling.

"Uhh, Hello? Hello?"

Yep.

Phone Guy.

"Uh, well, if you're hearing this and you made it to day two, uh, congrats!"

"For not falling for your stupid prank?" Mike asked.

He had since decided that Phone Guy and the janitor were in cahoots.

"I-I won't talk quite as long this time since Freddy and his friends tend to become more active as the week progresses," Phone Guy told him. "Uhh, it might be a good idea to peek at those cameras while I talk just to make sure everyone's in their proper place. You know…"

Mike rolled his eyes, but turned on the monitor anyway. As he expected, everyone was still in place.

"Uh...interestingly enough," Phone Guy continued, "Freddy himself doesn't come off stage very often. I heard he becomes a lot more active in the dark though, so, hey, I guess that's one more reason not to run out of power, right?"

"Don't fuck with me."

"I-I also want to emphasize the importance of using your door lights," Phone Guy said.

Mike glanced over to the left door. He'd tested them last night, but had no reason to use them since Bonnie and Chica seemed content to stay on the other side of the building.

"There are blind spots in your camera views," Phone Guy explained, "and those blind spots happen to be _right_ outside of your doors. So if-if you can't find something, or someone, on your cameras, be sure to check the door lights. Uh, you might only have a few seconds to react…"

Blind spots? Mike already questioned the camera layouts the previous night, less for the bots, who he decided weren't really a threat to him, and more for in case someone broke in. Now that Phone Guy brought it to his attention, it bothered him. The little shopping center where the restaurant sat wasn't exactly in the best part of town.

"Uh, not that you would be in any danger, of course," Phone Guy assured him. "I'm not implying that."

Mike rolled his eyes again.

"Riiiight…"

"Also, check on the curtain in Pirate Cove from time to time. The character in there seems unique in that he becomes more active if the cameras remain off for long periods of time."

That got Mike's attention.

"Wait...Foxy still _works_?"

"I guess he doesn't like being watched," Phone Guy droned on. "I don't know. Anyway, I'm sure you have everything under control! Uh, talk to you soon."

The phone clicked off, but Mike ignored it as he fiddled with the monitor switches to show Pirate Cove. The purple curtains with their silver stars hung in view, with no movement or signs of life.

So far.

His stomach dropped sharply as he tried to convince himself that this was still just a joke. That Foxy wasn't scary anymore. That it was just a broken machine, and Phone Guy was just fucking with him.

God, that thing and its teeth…

Mike shook his head to banish the sudden thoughts that crept up. According to Phone Guy, he just needed to check in here and there. Make sure he was accounted for. And worst case...just know where Foxy was, like he'd been doing with the others.

That eased his mind a little. It would be more of the same, really. Just one more robot walking around the building, and one he only felt anxious about due to childhood fears that hadn't quite gone away.

Feeling even a little better about it, Mike adjusted the monitor to go back to the stage.

Like last night, Bonnie left first.

* * *

Things went more or less the same way they did the previous night. By the time 2am rolled around, only Bonnie wandered the establishment, with Freddy and Chica still onstage, and Foxy still behind his curtain.

Mike kept checking to be sure.

Only one thing changed from the previous night: Bonnie now started to come into the west hall leading to the security office, and at times stood right in the flickering light at the end of the hall where his silhouette faded in and out, bringing to mind horror movie posters where the killer stood in shadow. The rabbit often stood still, as if deciding whether or not to go down the hall. So far, Bonnie turned around each time to go back to the dining room.

Mike briefly wondered what would happen if he changed his mind. Those steel doors would keep the animatronic from getting to him, which he hated to admit brought him a sense of comfort.

Not that he was in any _real_ danger.

But as much as he dismissed Phone Guy as a prankster...some part of him still wanted to remain alert. That something about this place was seriously amiss, and he didn't want to find out what.

He flipped the monitor from the now-empty hall and back to the dining room, to find Chica now joined the party. And like the previous night, he found both of them less weird when they walked together. Mike shut the monitor off for a moment to sip from his coffee. The two of them could entertain each other while he saved a bit of power.

Strange how he felt almost bored in those moments where everyone was accounted for, where it was just him and a small sip of Folger's. Just enough to keep himself alert; in the two hours he'd been watching, the thermos cup still remained about halfway full.

Mike perked a bit, suddenly remembering to add to tonight's routine. He turned the monitor back on to Bonnie and Chica still in the dining room, then flipped the view to Pirate Cove.

Coffee covered his hand as he jumped. He saw the curtains parted for the first time, just enough to reveal what hid behind them. Mike set the thermos mug down and wiped his hand on his pants, grateful that the brown liquid had cooled at least enough to not leave burns. Then, he looked back to the monitor to fully take in Foxy.

The pirate fox leaned out of the now-parted curtains. His eyepatch flipped up to reveal glowing yellow eyes that stared up into the camera. Numerous sharp, glistening teeth protruded from his broken jaw. From this angle, the torn costume was almost as prominent, revealing parts of the endoskeleton chest underneath.

Mike found himself morbidly intrigued. He stared into eyes that seemed to stare back...and _swore_ he saw the jaw lower a little more, longing to bite. That alone got him to change the camera view.

The dining room prominently showed Chica now danced alone. Mike quickly flipped to the backstage area, and even with a careful look to the shadows, he found it empty save for the masks. Cam 1B still showed Chica still by herself, Freddy had no company on the stage, and Mike only stayed for a second at Pirate Cove to avoid looking at Foxy.

Mike's heart pounded as he checked the end of the west hall for Bonnie. He found nothing in the flickering lights except the children's drawings on the wall. Maybe he went to the other side?

The bathrooms showed nothing. The east hall was empty, as were the corners in both hallways.

He tried not to panic as he flipped through the camera views on the monitor again. Dining room still contained one yellow chicken. Only Freddy stood on the stage and Foxy still stared up alone with gaping jaws. The kitchen camera's broken, don't even bother. No dice on the back room or the bathrooms.

Mike tensed as he double-checked each one except the stage and Pirate Cove, just to be sure. Was he missing something? Did the rabbit move into another view while he searched a different one?

...Did Bonnie possibly get close?

Mike kicked his chair towards the left door to try the light. The fluorescent bulbs above flickered, but nothing showed in the hall when he dared to peek his head out to investigate. His vision a little hazy from the light, he tried the east hall.

Nothing.

Fuck, where _was_ he? The back room? The dining room again?

A quick flip through the views revealed nothing. Mike bit down a sick feeling in his stomach, a gnawing wonder if the robot was even still _in_ the building. The outside doors should be locked, and the dumb jingle that played when someone entered or left would have alerted him. How could such a large machine just _disappear_ like that?

Mike hastily looked again, trying to find the rabbit's ears, a silhouette, hell, he'd even take the damn demon face right now if it meant confirmation. He just...needed to find him. His job depended on it.

The tension built as he looked again. He ignored Chica and Freddy - who were both still where he saw them last - and finally found one camera he somehow missed.

Cam 3, the hall closet. Everything about it set him on edge.

Unlike before, Bonnie stood completely still. Though he faced forward with his back against the shelves behind him, the light from the hanging bulb cast shadows on his eyes that gave the illusion of the rabbit looking up. Seeing how the light hung almost close enough to touch his snout only reconfirmed just how _big_ he really was. Everything about the downward angle, the shadows, the robot's stillness...it reminded Mike of a vampire patiently waiting in his coffin for sundown.

God, that thing had a knack for being in _just_ the right places to creep him out. Mike checked the time and power.

2:53am and 62%.

Bonnie stayed in the closet only for a few moments - Mike _swore_ he saw the machine reach up and bat at the hanging light bulb at one point - and left sometime when the security guard checked a different camera view.

Now _Chica_ was starting this stupid game of deviating from her usual pattern. Neither bot occupied the dining room, the bathrooms were empty, and so were the hallways. Mike checked back to the dining room to confirm Bonnie's return, found him in the back room, then went back to his search for the chicken. He was about to skip the kitchen camera, when he stopped, hearing something. Clattering?

Just to test it, he switched it to the back room - stay there, you goddamn rabbit - and then back to the kitchen. Metallic screeching that resembled gym shoes on a floor entered his ears, along with what he assumed were pots and pans being banged around.

Okay, so that visuals were out, but the camera still had an audio feed. The relief gave way to uneasiness when Mike realized that Chica, like Bonnie in the closet, was uncomfortably close to the office. Mike's blood pounded in his ears as he waited and listened for the clattering to end, then checked the views when it stopped.

Good, she and Bonnie both decided to go back to the dining room.

He flipped the monitor off, then forced himself to breathe.

_You're fine_, he thought to himself. _You're letting everything get to you. Just stay calm_.

Mike grabbed for his coffee to drink what was left from when he spilled it. His jittered, and it wasn't due to caffeine, not when he barely had half a cup all night. He practically choked the remnants down, then took another breath. A quick glance to his watch showed it was just after three. He was over halfway through the night.

So long as nothing else changed, he could handle this.

Just like last night.

Everything except-

Mike suddenly turned the monitor back on, remembering tonight's warning...and the one animatronic that legitimately frightened him as he flipped the view to Pirate Cove.

Foxy had stepped out of his little home, the curtains now halfway open behind him. He paced as the audio feed picked up...singing?

_Da da da dum da dum dum. Da da dum dum dum doodly do…_

Weird, he decided, and probably nothing to concern himself with. But Mike hated the vibe he got from the fox. The sense of...anticipation.

That the animatronic was biding his time for something.

"It's just a robot," Mike told himself. "It's just a…"

His tone dropped as the word came to him, the recollection of the phrase crawling out from the far reaches of his mind.

"...Toy."

* * *

_**Spring 1974**_

"_...The Kraken be a foul beastie," Foxy said to the crowd of children sitting before him._

_His animatronic parts whirred and clicked, his mouth moving up and down in time to the story he told, his arms making exaggerated gestures to emphasize each plot detail._

"_Just one o' its wobbly ol' legs is the length o' twenty ships, its mouth big enough to SNAP-"_

_The pirate fox leaned in, snapping his jaws to make the point._

"_-A ship in two."_

_In the back of the crowd, a small six-year-old boy let out a terrified squeak. While the other children gasped at the snapping jaws, but remained engaged with fascinated curiosity as Foxy described how he fought the Kraken, Mike moved to slip away from the crowd, trying to fight back tears._

_He got up on shaking legs and ran over to the dark corner in the dining room between Pirate Cove and the the main stage show. The stage show curtains remained closed, hiding the other animatronics as to not draw attention away from Foxy while he told his story. The silver stars on the purple fabric blurred by as he passed them._

_A voice called out behind him, trying to be heard over the pirate fox, the music, the beeping of the games creating both atmosphere and noisy chaos. He stopped only for a moment by the stage as a terrified chill ran down his spine. Foxy's voice spurred him to move again. Mike ran to a door in the corner, noticing it ajar. He paid no heed to the "Employees Only" sign. He knew he shouldn't be back there, but he didn't want anyone to see him._

_Not when he felt the tears escaping._

_Just for a moment, he told himself. Slip in, dry his eyes, slip back out._

_Pretend to be okay._

_Pretend Foxy's sharp hook and teeth didn't bother him. That he didn't imagine those jaws biting him into smaller pieces, then swallowing him bit by bit._

_Mike slipped through the crack in the doorway. No light shone in the room, save for the dim glow from the dining room just outside. All he could make out was part of a table, and shelves with weird shapes sitting on them. He paid them no heed as he pressed against the wall, his back to the door. Mike wiped his eyes on his sleeve._

_He only needed a moment._

* * *

Mike shoved the memory back as he changed the camera view to the dining room.

To focus on something a little more pleasant.

To smile at Chica's goofy beak and Bonnie's odd habit of pushing the party hats perfectly into place, and shifting the chairs when he felt it needed.

He took a deep breath and reached over to grab his thermos, though he took no drink from it. Instead, Mike grabbed the now-empty cup and tightly twisted it back on. His hands shook, his left still sticky with coffee residue.

Damn fox.

But the scare _did_ kick-start his adrenaline and force him into uneasy alertness. Mike breathed again. He wouldn't need anymore caffeine tonight, and truthfully, he didn't want it. Just knowing that Foxy was up, about and _pacing_ set his nerves on edge.

* * *

_For a long moment, he stood there in the dark. Mike let the tears drop. He took long, deep breaths to try to calm down. He kept his back to the door while he wiped his face on his sleeve, again and again._

_Bite it back._

_You're brave._

_Show them you're brave._

_The sound of creaking hinges entered his ears. The outside music grew louder, accompanied by the footsteps of someone else entering the room._

"_Michael!"_

_The voice held the faintest trace of a German accent. Footsteps followed it, then the rustle of cloth. A pair of large, strong hands gently turned him around. The dining room light hid the man's form in shadow save for a ring of light around him, but Mike didn't need the light to know the face, the familiar green eyes, the slicked back blond hair, the shaven face with its strong jaw. He reached up to wipe his eyes again as his father knelt down to his level._

"_Hey," Johan said quietly. "It is okay, Michael."_

"_I d-don't-!"_

_ "__I know," Johan replied, picking up on his distress. "You do not like him."_

_He moved to hold his son close to him for a moment in an attempt to assuage his fears._

"_But let me tell you," his father said, "I am proud of you for trying to overcome this on your own."_

_Mike just nodded as he clung tightly to Johan. He buried his face in his father's shoulder, felt the warmth of his skin under his button-down shirt, and took in the familiar scent of cologne that never quite hid the smell of cigarettes lurking underneath. He felt his father's strong fingers carefully run over his back to ease him. Outside, he faintly heard Foxy finishing his story, and several kids cheering._

_He imagined the curtain at Pirate Cove closing, hiding Foxy from sight. He heard several sets of small footsteps suddenly adding to the chaotic atmosphere just outside the room._

_Johan let him go after another moment. He gently lifted his son's face to his own in the dark. The gesture, though pointless, brought a safe sense of familiarity as he spoke again._

"_We should not be here, Michael. You had your moment alone; we should go back out before someone catches us."_

_Mike nodded. He wiped his eyes one more time on the back of his hand._

_Behind them, the door opened a little more, bringing more light into the room. In the corner of his eye, Mike caught some of the shapes on the shelves on the other end of the room: flecks of yellow, purple, brown. But he paid these no heed as he glanced to the form now standing in the doorway._

_At the figure half in shadow, half lit from the dining room light. More importantly, he caught the thing's glowing yellow eyes staring down at him._

_Mike's own eyes widened as his voice hung in his throat with terror. He found it a moment later when the creature he feared lunged forward, its long white and gold teeth catching the light._

"_Dad!"_

* * *

Foxy.

He had almost forgotten about Foxy.

Mike quickly turned the camera to Cam 1C. The purple curtains hung completely open now, showing only an empty stage and the -_Sorry!- Out of Order_ sign. Mike's heart skipped a beat as he frantically flipped through the views.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

Dining room. Stage show. Kitchen. Backstage. Bathrooms.

He only found Chica up by the bathrooms, and Bonnie still wandered the dining room.

Hall closet. Hallways. Hall corners.

Like Bonnie before, Mike didn't see Foxy in any of the camera views. He hadn't noticed his heavier breathing or the sudden heat under his collar. He did another round of quick camera flips, trying to find the pirate fox before it found him.

He never noticed Freddy no longer faced forward, but now stared up at the stage show camera.

Mike's hands trembled as he neared the end of the cycle, but perked when new sound entered the night's serenade. He held his breath to listen, to pick it out from the normal mechanical whirs and clicks, the spinning fan, the buzzing light overhead.

His heart stopped as he narrowed it down.

Scratching.

Metal against linoleum.

A distinct rhythm, like something preparing to...

The sound abruptly changed, metal pounding against the floor, another metallic pound following it. The sounds hit a certain beat, much like...

Footsteps.

Fast, metal-clanking footsteps.

Fast, metal-clanking footsteps against the tile floor.

Fast, metal-clanking footsteps approaching him in the west hall.

Mike dove from his seat then, his open fingers slamming against the left door switch. Pain shot through his fingers as they bent back with force. He ignored it as he fell to his knees, his chest slumped up against the wall. The door slid down in place. Mike barely caught a flash of red and a glint of metal before it clicked shut. Not even a second later, something large and heavy banged on the door, so hard the wall vibrated underneath him.

A second _bang_ hit the door, and Mike yelped. He quickly slipped down onto his stomach. A third _bang_ followed, which forced him to ditch any attempts to get off the ground. An angry, frustrated screech rang from the other side. Mike stayed down. His body trembled with the surge of thoughts that forced themselves to the front of his mind.

Blood spilled on black and white tiles.

Screams. Confusion.

Staff members trying to contain the scene.

And white teeth dripping with red.

Mike reached a hand to his mouth and forced himself to remain still and silent. He didn't hear the metal feet stomping away or see the little tufts of red fur in the office window as Foxy went back down the hall. Instead, he kept his focus solely on making himself as small as possible, instinctively curling himself in.

Push them back.

This isn't…

That didn't just…

This wasn't real.

Oh god, it _couldn't_ have been real.

Bile tried to force its way up his throat. Mike barely managed to swallow it back. His stomach hurt, his nostrils stung, and breathing became a chore. Tears clouded his vision as Mike forced himself to regain control again.

Why the hell was he here? Why put himself through this?

Only after several long moments did Mike finally calm down enough to try to get up again. His legs wobbled and threatened to collapse as he grabbed the edge of the desk. Movement caught his vision, and on the monitor, he saw a red tail slip in between the now-closed curtains at Pirate Cove.

Mike's face flushed with relief as he stared at the screen for a moment, ignoring the little power indicator that now read at 46%.

For the first time since last night, he wondered if he should start taking those calls seriously.

Provided he made it through the rest of tonight.

Provided he dared to come back tomorrow.

His stomach revolted again. Thinking quickly, Mike grabbed the empty striped Freddy's cup that sat on the desk, popped the lid off, and let loose. Only when he purged the fear along with what remained of his dinner did he feel even remotely better. He slammed the lid back on when he finished to keep the vile contents contained. Mike wiped his mouth on his sleeve, ashamed of himself for it, but in that moment, he didn't only see the horror: he felt a resurgence of feelings he thought he buried, even smelled the gore directly under his nose when he pictured that scene.

"...Only a toy," he whispered. "O-only a…"

Who was he kidding? He heard it run. He saw those flashes of red, heard the banging and that screech that now haunted his mind.

He didn't know how much time passed, only that it felt like eternity before he calmed down enough to remember he had a job to do. Mike's blood pounded in his ears. He loosened his tie and top buttons and rolled up his sleeves to release the heat that built up under his shirt. He reached up to rub his temples, his head throbbing as he checked the time.

Almost 3:30am.

Less than half the night left in this hellhole.

Mike steeled himself as he checked right door, only now realizing how long it had been open. He shut it quickly, not wanting to risk any further exposure, before he went back to the sole working monitor on the desk and fiddled with the knobs to change the camera views.

Only when he confirmed the starry curtains at Pirate Cove remained shut (which he flipped back to after checking every room to be sure), that Bonnie and Chica doing their weird dining room dance, that Freddy was still onstage did he dare to open the doors.

Knowing for certain there _was_ real danger to look out for, Mike planned to spend the next two-and-a-half hours keeping vigilant. If Foxy got in…

No. Don't think about it.

Just focus.

Survive.

And get your ass out at 6am.

* * *

_Johan turned around at his son's prompting and saw Foxy lean into the room._

"_D-don't hurt him!" Mike cried._

_If the animatronic understood, or simply stopped out of coincidence, Mike couldn't tell, only that Foxy's jaws suddenly closed, and his head fell forward. In the darkness of the room, Mike felt his father's grip suddenly tighten, betraying his jovial next words:_

"_What did I tell you, Michael? We should not be back here."_

_Johan stood up, though he kept Mike behind him for his son's sake. Foxy twitched a bit, his arms swaying as a power-down sound suddenly filled the room. The lights in the room came on, revealing the table and the shelves. Mike paid them little heed. He just buried his head in Johan's stomach both for comfort and to shield his eyes. From behind the animatronic, a man popped up, the brim of a red Freddy's baseball cap over his eyes and showing only his smile. The sudden light revealed a green polo shirt with the Freddy's logo just above the pocket._

_An employee._

"_I'm very sorry about that, sir," the employee told Johan. "I saw him walk away after the show; he's not supposed to do that."_

_Though Mike didn't see it, he heard the frown in the man's voice._

"_But guests really aren't supposed to be back here."_

"_My apologies," Johan said. "I was just collecting my son. He…"_

_He protectively held Mike to him, let him keep his face hidden._

"_He panicked during the show and ran in here. We were just leaving."_

"_I understand."_

_Mike kept his face buried in Johan's shirt as the employee spoke to him._

"_Sorry about that, kiddo. We'll see what we can do to make Foxy less scary."_

_Mike just nodded and focused on his father's cologne and cigarettes._

"_And sorry about that near-miss," the man told Johan. "This one's been a bit twitchy the last two days. I'll have to figure out what's wrong."_

"_No harm done," Johan replied._

_He forced up a smile and looked at Foxy._

"_My, what big teeth you have!"_

_Mike ignored the joke and clung tighter to his father. He felt Johan carefully run a hand through his dark hair, then gently urge him to start walking._

"_That was a bit close for comfort, eh, sport?"_

_His father's tinge of a German accent, the soft "sh" at the beginning of his nickname, set him at ease. Mike clung to Johan as he lead him out. He refused to look at Foxy, and didn't speak until they were back in the dining room. Back with the colors and games and the curtains on the main stage now opened to Freddy and his band happily singing a tune._

"_Dad," Mike whispered. "He was gonna eat you!"_

_Johan carefully lead him back to their table, where four slices of lukewarm pizza, their sodas, and Mike's token cup sat waiting for them. He helped his son into his chair, then took his own._

"_Nonsense, Michael. He is a machine. He cannot eat."_

"_But I saw him!"_

_"Michael. It is fine. He just glitched, and that nice man in there is going to fix him."_

_Johan slipped from his seat and knelt down to his son's level, gently urging him to look at him._

"_You know your red car at home, Michael? The one with the remote control?"_

_Mike nodded. Johan pointed up to the stage, where the rest of the Fazbear band played._

"_Look. Do you see the metal pieces on their arms and legs?"_

_Mike nodded again._

"_That means they are machine, ja?"_

"_Yeah…"_

_"Okay. Now, remember: Foxy is like them. And he is also just like your car. Underneath the fox costume is just a metal frame and wires that make him move. And behind the scenes, someone makes him move and talk and sing. He is just a very big puppet. A toy."_

_Johan gently placed a hand on Mike's shoulder._

"_And like any other toy," he continued, "he can break. I do not know what made him break, but that is why he is not out right now. The technician is going to fix him so he works properly. Okay?"_

_Mike hesitated, but nodded._

"_Okay, Dad."_

_He glanced over to the now-closed curtains at Pirate Cove. Only the quiet that followed eased his mind._

"_Just remember, Michael. He is only a toy."_

* * *

The rest of the night drifted between a haze and being acutely aware of every minor detail around him. Every minute ticked by slowly, stretching into eternity now that Foxy successfully forced him to pay the strictest attention to the cameras. Every sound magnified, so that the faintest noise had Mike grabbing for his flashlight and shining it up in his windows to ensure the hallways stayed empty, that it wasn't heavy metal on linoleum moving at a speed far too quick for comfort.

He hardly cared what the others did now; he doubted Freddy would move, and Bonnie and Chica seemed to have settled back into the same routines they had the previous night.

All that mattered now was ensuring those curtains remained shut.

The bastard peered out again around 4:45am, his yellow eyes staring knowingly up at the camera. Mike swallowed hard when he fixed his gaze with Foxy's, his mind flashing to that night so many years ago, to the piercing, glowing gaze in the darkness.

But this time, he defiantly glowered back.

_You're only a toy,_ he thought, mulling over his father's words. _A broken, glitching, overgrown fucking piece of scrap_.

He knew better. The damn thing almost got inside. But Mike needed that sense of power, to feel he had some semblance of control. And as he stared at the camera...Foxy seemed to smile at the sentiment.

To challenge him.

Mike shut off the monitor to save power and rest his eyes. He didn't have too much longer to go; he was in the home stretch. Just breathe a moment, check in, keep an eye on Foxy.

He kept a sharp eye on his power levels, and had even dared to open his thermos and take a few small sips. The freak-out took a lot out of him, allowing fatigue to creep up. He needed to stay awake, alert, and get back to it.

Foxy came out to pace again. Mike paid attention to his movements when he did. He guessed the first metal scratches he heard were preparation to run, a marathon runner digging his feet into the dirt to preamble a sprint. It might be the only warning he got to shut the door in time.

But the moment never came. Not when he saw Foxy turn to go back inside, the curtains shutting around him.

The beeping of his watch startled him, but Mike knew what it meant. Foxy's daytime programming kicked in, and so did the others'. They would all be in their places when he left the office.

Whatever resolve he had left drained then. He turned the monitor off, knowing he had a few precious moments alone before the early morning employees got in. Mike stared at the blank screen in resigned shock.

A wave of emotion overcame him a moment later.

He moved a hand to his mouth as his emotions broke free. He didn't care that his eyes grew wet, that his body shook, that he wasn't sure if he felt sick or relieved.

He sat there in silence, the sound of the fan hiding the occasional choked sob.

Get control of yourself.

Calmly walk out that door.

And try to pretend this was all just a very bad dream.


	5. Bad Blood

**Tuesday, November 9, 1993**

Mike eventually gained enough control over himself to move again. He wiped his eyes on his clean sleeve, then reached up to massage his temples, urging the headache that suddenly cropped up to go away. He still shuddered at the thought of Foxy getting that close, of the pounding on the door, and that twisted scream.

No matter how many times he recited his mantra last night, he wasn't convinced that the animatronic was just that: a toy, a lifeless object. Everything about Foxy, from the pacing, to the scratching on the tiles, to how he ran down the hall...it all felt deliberate.

_Real_.

That the machine was capable of things beyond its programming.

Phone Guy told him to pay specific attention to Foxy last night. Was this why? The others, he could wave off as quirky or weird. They wandered around and creeped him out, and even when they stared up into the cameras, Mike never felt too threatened by Bonnie or Chica, even when the latter followed him. Discomforted maybe, and certainly with no desire to let them in if they got too close. But neither one evoked the same sense of dread that Foxy did.

And neither of them proved so clearly why he should be afraid of them.

He forced himself out of his seat, grabbed his thermos, and, on noticing it, the striped Freddy's cup he unwittingly filled last night. Might as well dispose of it before anyone found the evidence of how badly last night got to him.

Even at his brisk pace, his feet turned to bricks with each step. The east hallway stretched into a never-ending abyss before him. Mike stumbled forward, letting the posters he passed become colored blurs as he focused on the dining room tables. The party hats in their perfect rows slowly grew larger. The Freddy's cup found its way into the first trash can he spotted, and from there, he ignored the main stage and went straight for the bathrooms.

Part of him still felt sick and queasy.

Mike flicked the lights on, wincing at the sudden brightness. He set his thermos on the sink counter, then nearly jumped out of his skin.

Like before, his hat shaded his eyes, giving him the impression of...being someone else. Unlike before, he actually saw his red, bloodshot eyes, the dark circles forming under them, the worry and fear etched into his face.

Mike took off his hat and set it on the sink counter before he took a good look at his reflection.

God, he looked like hell.

He reached down to turn the faucet handle. Mike cupped his hands under the faucet, splashed some of the water over his face, and filled his hands again. The cool water against his flesh shocked him awake. Mike sipped from some of the water pooled in his hands. It tasted of old metal pipes and he didn't want to know what else, but it moisturized his throat and soothed the residual burn.

_Michael._

He perked upon hearing his name. Was someone here?

"...Hello?"

Mike shut off the faucet and looked around. He didn't hear that entrance jingle, so the building should still be empty. Maybe someone entered, and he just hadn't been paying attention. Hell, his mind was in at least six different directions right now; it was possible he wasn't alone anymore.

Or maybe he was just hearing things.

He held still to try to pick out the voice again. When he heard nothing, Mike grabbed for some paper towels, dried his face, and glanced up at his reflection. Still looked like hell, with his weary blue eyes, mussed black hair, and five o'clock stubble. But at least now he could better pass as merely tired and not traumatized.

Maybe.

The water helped the queasiness to subside, and he felt well enough to at least make it home. Mike grabbed his hat and tightly clenched his fingers around his thermos. He made it a point to keep his eyes averted from the mirror as he exited the bathroom. A quick glance to his watch showed it was 6:19am.

Upon re-entering the dining room, Mike stopped. He immediately sensed something off and instinctively glanced over at the animatronics. Bonnie still stood with his guitar, poised and ready to play. Freddy held his microphone up near his mouth. Chica held up her cupcake, her beak closed. All of them had their eyelids partway shut, giving the illusion of sleepiness...or waking up to greet the new day and new guests.

He bit back a shudder, but passed it off as nothing. They all had that expression before, right? He hadn't given them more than a passing glance when he headed off to the bathrooms, but they looked like this when he left the building yesterday. This had to be their daytime programming kicking in.

Mike's second hunch was Pirate Cove. Unlike his first night, where approaching Foxy amounted to harmless curiosity to see if the thing was still even _there_, every fiber in his being screamed at him to avoid it. He happily obeyed, giving the purple curtains only a quick glance before turning his attention to the other parts of the dining room.

The door jingle played. Mike jumped as he quickly turned to see who had arrived. He saw the thick white polo shirt and black slacks first, then the tanned skin, greased back brown hair, and thin mustache. One part of him groaned, but the rest of him felt a wave of relief.

Waylon Kent, the middle-aged head manager, had just gotten in. His brown sweater-jacket hung part way open, revealing his polo underneath.

"Geeze, it's getting cold," Waylon muttered. "Wind's really picking up."

He pulled off his sweater-jacket, better revealing the Freddy's logo just above the polo pocket. Mike hurried over to him. Resignation still hung on his mind.

"Oh, god, just who I wanted to see!"

Waylon perked up, quirking a brow. His keys swayed in his tightened grip, and he balled his hands, pushing them against his pudgy waist.

"Schmidt? You're still here?"

"Not for much longer," Mike said, more than a little exasperated. "I-"

"-Should have been out twenty minutes ago!" Waylon exclaimed, narrowing his eyes. He lifted a hand and wagged a stray finger in Mike's face. "What in god's name are you still doing here? I'm not paying out any overtime!"

Mike ignored him, uncertain if he was more frustrated at the interruption or at the manager's attempts to ignore his explanation.

"I'm getting over a goddamn _heart attack_, is what!" he cried, wildly gesturing to Pirate Cove. "No one told me the damn fox still works!"

That shut Waylon up for a second. The manager immediately glanced across the room to the curtains, watched them for a moment, then turned back to Mike.

"Impossible," he scoffed, hanging his jacket over one arm. "Foxy's been decommissioned for months."

"Obviously not," Mike said, his tone raising in volume with each word, "because he fucking _ran at me_!"

For a brief second, Mike swore he saw a shocked glint in the manager's eyes. It passed as Waylon looked him over. The manager's eyebrows lowered. His mouth formed into a scowl as his brown eyes darted over Mike's features, his posture, honing in on any sign that the night guard messing with him.

"That one shouldn't even be _on_," Waylon said at last.

"Well, it was! And it could have skewered me alive!"

Mike took a breath, trying to regain a level head.

"Just fuck all this nonsense. I-"

"_Schmidt_."

Based on the last several weeks, Waylon knew how that sentence would end. One needed only to glance around the room to know the destitution of the restaurant, and the last thing he wanted was to go through the hiring process _again_. Therefore, he quickly engaged damage control mode before Mike could finish.

"Don't let whatever happened last night scare you off," Waylon said, his tone softening. "I'll investigate it _personally_, and find whoever did this."

"Uh-uh," Mike said. "I'm not sticking around. Find someone-"

"_Schmidt!_"

The swift, authoritative tone caught Mike off-guard enough to go silent for two seconds. Waylon stepped closer to him, his gaze stern, his posture strong.

"You're _going_ to come back tonight," he said, "because _I'm_ going to find out which of my staff thinks it's funny to tamper with those _very_ expensive and _very_ delicate machines, and fire them."

Mike instantly remembered the loud banging on the door last night, how Foxy's strength shook the walls down to the very floor. He crossed his arms as he glared at Waylon.

"Delicate, my ass."

"Cut the attitude, Schmidt, and watch your language," Waylon warned. "This is a family establishment."

"Like there's anyone here to give a fuck."

Waylon glowered, but dismissed it for the moment, as having someone on the night shift took priority. His upper lip twitched a bit in frustration as he forced a calmer tone.

"It's the principle of the matter," he said, almost gently. "Now go home and get some rest."

Mike glared at him.

"I'm not-"

The sudden cold look from the manager set him on edge.

"Sure you are," Waylon said. "You need the money. Why _else_ would you take this job?"

"I-!"

Mike gaped as he struggled to think of a response. This wasn't worth the paycheck, far from it. But he hated to admit there _was_ something else, that he longed for answers he doubted the manager could, or even _would_ give him if he knew. That inner desire drew him into this spider's web and refused to let him leave until he reached the heart of it.

Even so, Foxy's deliberation to get to him conflicted with those thoughts: the scratching against the tiles, the attempts to get inside, the frustrated screech at being denied his prey. More than that, he had the other animatronics to worry about as well.

Were the answers he sought worth the risks?

Waylon honed in on his silence like a bloodthirsty shark to break him out of his thoughts.

"That's what I thought."

He started towards the office again, before the lights suddenly flickered off.

"Damn it," Waylon muttered. "That's the second time this month."

He turned to Mike, picking him out from the light coming in from the front windows.

"Schmidt, go in the back and jiggle the fuses. One of them probably just got loose again."

"I thought I had to get my ass out the door?" Mike asked, crossing his arms.

"If you're gonna be here, make yourself useful."

"I don't recall it being in my job description," Mike said, turning towards the door. "I already don't get paid enough for this."

"I'll throw you a quarter on your next check," Waylon said sardonically. "Two if you get it done in two minutes. Just do it."

Mike rolled his eyes and reached for his flashlight.

"_Fine_."

He clicked it on and headed for the back room, fueled by his annoyance at Waylon. It faded as he passed the last video game cabinet by the stage, his footsteps slowing with dread. Mike swallowed hard as he stood in front of the entrance to the back room.

Just get in, fiddle with the fuses, get out.

Mike checked his watch quickly, the glowing green digits reading at 6:26am. He shone the flashlight on the stage behind him. Bonnie's profile came into view, with Freddy's top hat and Chica's microphone showing behind him. The rabbit's gentle expression and forward-facing eyes eased him. They were in daytime mode now, and couldn't move.

A quick shine on the curtains at Pirate Cove as a further assurance, before Mike stepped into the back room.

He ignored the empty heads, suit pieces, and boxes of parts as he quickly searched for the fusebox. The flashlight caught something glinting with silver movement as he stepped further into the room. Mike quickly shone the light back where he saw it. The endoskeleton sitting on the end of the table remained still.

The night guard made it a point to pass by it quickly.

He found the fusebox in the corner under the camera, just out of sight behind the shelf. Mike pulled it open and looked at the small diagram pasted to the inside of the door to try to decipher the fuses.

A metallic _creak_ got his attention.

Mike whipped around with the flashlight, shining it on the endoskeleton again.

Was its hand..._twitching_?

The building lights suddenly powered back on. Mike jumped with a gasp, bumping into the wall behind him. He watched the endoskeleton for a full minute.

It remained completely still.

_Fucking Foxy. I'm freaking myself out,_ he thought. _They don't move after 6am_.

He slammed the fusebox shut and headed out of the room. Let Waylon think he did something useful; he didn't want to be here any longer.

As he entered the dining room again, he heard a door slam. A normal, _wooden_ door, not the steel doors in the security office. Mike frowned as he realized Waylon probably went into his office. He wove through the tables to get to the front entrance, stopping just before the small door near the kitchen. A thought went through his mind, one he had the other day when he first noticed the office.

"...There has to be a way to get inside," Mike said, quietly.

A soft _thud_ caught his attention, like something just closed. Not a door; the sound was too soft. Mike glanced around the room until his eyes fell upon the Puppet's box.

Had it been listening?

He decided not to find out. Alone now, Mike swallowed hard and gripped his thermos. He gave another glance around the dining room.

Everything looked just as it should.

Mike looked to the stage, where the Fazbear band stood, ready to play. None of them moved an inch. He looked over his shoulder at Pirate Cove, where the curtains hung, silent and unmoving.

Warily, he walked to the front door, not even registering the familiar jingle as it shut behind him. Mike hardly remembered getting his keys out, unlocking the driver's door, and sinking into the driver's seat. He fumbled to pull out his cigarette pack and lighter. His hands shook as he grabbed a smoke and clicked the lighter once, twice, four times.

The familiar smell brought him the same sense of comfort he felt years ago, when Johan held him close. By the time Mike finished the cigarette and snuffed it in the small tray beside him, his hands no longer shook. He finally trusted himself to start the car, pull out and head home.

But where the physical edge subsided, the haunting thoughts had not. He turned on the radio, forcing his focus on the morning DJ and the road.

Anything to keep the horror back for the ten minutes he needed to get home.

* * *

Mike stumbled up the stairs to reach his fourth floor apartment, his keys already dug out, and the correct one drawn to let him into his sanctuary. The doors on either side blurred as he trudged along, wishing that his own apartment was closer. His gaze found the old green carpet, and he used that as a guide to lead him home.

_You need the money_, Waylon's voice echoed, for perhaps the fifth time since he pulled out of the Freddy's parking lot. _Why_ else _would you take this job?_

He forced the thought back, not quite ready to reopen those old wounds.

Not that they ever truly healed.

One of the doors down the hall opened. He saw a pair of slippers merged with loose pajama pants, a green robe, and wet black waves of hair hanging below the robe's belt. He heard a soft hum and a set of jingling keys. The slippers stopped, as did the jingling.

"...Mike?"

Mike looked up. It spoke enough of his mental state that it took him another few seconds to recognize her voice, to place her face. She looked very different without her makeup: her green eyes looked bigger, the edges slightly slanted like almonds. Her lips were thinner, her face rounder. Both brought out tells of her partial Asian heritage. Her olive-gold skin held an after-shower luster that he only noticed due to focusing so hard on her familiarity.

"You're getting in a little late, aren't you?"

The cheerful tone snapped his mind into fully comprehending Vanna, his other horrific thoughts forgotten for a moment. God fucking damn it. She was the _last_ person he wanted to see him like this. Still, he tried to brush it off. Mike forced up a smile. At least here, things needed to feel normal.

"Long night," Mike said quickly.

"Must have been," Vanna said. "You look exhausted."

"I didn't sleep well yesterday," he lied.

Vanna looked him over, taking in his features, his posture. Mike briefly wondered if she believed him. A surge of relief shot through him when she nodded in understanding.

"I can tell," Vanna said. "Night shift can be a bitch, but you'll get used to it."

She ran a hand through her hair, then shook off a bit of residual shower water.

"I was just going to get my mail, Mike. Want me to get yours while I'm down?"

"No. Oh, that reminds me," Mike said. He gestured for her to follow, latching on the excuse to not have to directly face her. "Got a thing from your mother. She wrote my apartment number on it by mistake."

Vanna rolled her eyes.

You're not the first neighbor she's 'mistakenly' sent things to," she said, tagging behind him. "Sorry, Mike. I told her to stop sending me shit."

"It's fine," Mike said, walking to his apartment to get the door unlocked.

He dashed inside, taking only a few seconds to trade his thermos for the faint pink envelope on his coffee table to bring back to her. As he handed it to Vanna, her face fell upon seeing the writing on the envelope.

"...It's not only the apartment number she forgot," Mike said.

Vanna didn't face him. She just gave a somber nod in agreement as she looked at the careful penmanship on the envelope from a Bailey Belrose addressed to a Vesper Belrose.

"...Yeah," she said quietly. "_Forgot_. Like she _forgets_ every damn year."

She put the envelope and the obvious card it contained into her robe pocket.

"Do me a favor, Mike?" she asked.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"If she 'accidentally' sends anything else to you, just throw it away."

Mike glanced at her.

"...Bad blood?" he asked.

"You don't know the half of it," Vanna said. "There's a reason I've never introduced her to you. Let's just say we're not on speaking terms and leave it there."

Mike nodded as he awkwardly lingered beside his open door. Vanna took a breath before turning back to him.

"Anyway," she said, turning back to him, "you sure you're okay?"

Mike nodded. He gave her a forced, weary smile.

"...I'll be fine."

Vanna gave him a silent nod.

"I'll see you later, then," she said. "Get some rest."

"I'll try to. Night."

Mike entered the apartment again as Vanna headed down the hallway to leave, her keys jingling. He shut the door behind him, locked it, and held still as he listened to her retreating footsteps. The parallel of a door between him and certain danger walking away wasn't lost on him. Mike kept his back against the door to keep himself stable. Only when he felt truly alone did he let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

Mike shuddered as he undid his tie. He legs gradually slipped out from under him, and sunk lower and lower until he firmly sat against the front door.

What was it the janitor said? That most people left before their third night?

Like clockwork.

_You're not most people_.

Mike shook his head to clear the thought from his mind. He forced himself to stand and used the side table by the door to pull himself up. He trudged to his room with the speed of a prisoner dragging heavy chains behind him as he made his way to his room, each step slow, heavy, and forced.

The tie fell to the ground as he walked, and so did each of his shoes, slipping from his feet as his trembling fingers undid the buttons of his shirt. He let it fall where it might before he worked on his pants. By the time he got to bed, he wore only his socks and a pair of dark blue boxer-briefs.

Mike collapsed onto the old twin mattress, the bed frame groaning a bit under his weight. He glanced up at the bedside table, at the digital clock reading 7:13am.

Early, considering he only worked six hours, but everything in him drained as he succumbed to sleep.

* * *

Vanna stormed down the four flights of stairs to the main floor, into the little chamber just inside their building that held the mailboxes. She quickly unlocked hers and pulled out a few bills and the week's ads.

As she made her way back upstairs, Vanna yanked the envelope out of her pocket and glared at the writing on it, before shoving it under the mail pile. She recognized the card as the Trojan horse it was, her mother's attempt to twist a knife that remained embedded in her back since she was a child.

"I know," she muttered. "You wish I was _her_."

She continued her march to the fourth floor. The thought of trashing the card with the ads filled her mind.

"And you're weeks late," Vanna said to herself. "Our birthday was last month."

She stopped on the third floor stairwell as a small thought reached her mind.

_Mike had it._

She smiled as she cleared the last flight of stairs.

"I should buy him a drink just for that," she said cheerfully. "She couldn't ruin it this year."

The sound of a door opening startled her. Vanna glanced down the hall as a blonde woman in a pink coat left her apartment, locked it, and headed for the set of stairs at the other end of the hall.

_It's just Magda heading to work, _she thought.

Vanna yawned, her own long night wearing down on her. At least The Sanctuary didn't run out of glassware like they did the night before.

She entered her cluttered apartment. Her kitchen, while clean, had about every useful gadget sitting on the counters, with more barely fitting in the cupboards below. Over to the right, a large entertainment center held her TV set and cable box, with every remaining inch of space crammed with books, VHS tapes and various trinkets, a lot of them themed around ballet. More shelves held other possessions around the room. What little available wall space held art, posters, and scarves that hung from the ceiling in a strange array of decoration. One dining room chair was placed by one of the bookshelves, and in addition to the couch, she had a circular purple lounge chair and a black beanbag chair right beside it.

Vanna circled her couch to toss her mail on her coffee table, then turned behind her to the table that separated the living room from the kitchen.

Scattered parts and textbooks covered it, with a partially dismantled cassette player sitting in pieces. The other three dining room chairs surrounded it, the two on either side holding boxes of spare parts and disassembled electronics and toys, including an old Teddy Ruxpin and a Mickey Mouse doll that worked similarly.

The remains of dreams broken long ago, with pieces she was slowly putting back together, just like the cassette player. Her mother supported her up until she found out she switched her major to mechanical engineering. Then she pulled all her financial support until Vanna "came to her senses." Too dangerous, her mother told her. Stick to teaching, like a sensible woman. Better yet, find a nice man to marry.

Vanna rolled her eyes at the thought. Even if she _had_ any desire to find a romantic partner, it would _never_ be someone her mother approved of. She sighed as she walked up to the table and glanced at her notes and textbooks, at the progress she inched along on her own when she found time.

Just another wound to join so many more.

Vanna frowned as she headed for her room.

_Only on hold,_ she reminded herself. _I'm making good money at the bar. I'll be able pay for classes again soon. I don't need her._

She smiled a little as she pulled off her robe and collapsed into bed.


	6. Almost

_**Summer 1978**_

_Mike looked up at the stage. Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica were wrapping up their show._

"Sometimes old and sometimes new  
We keep the ones we find are true

Sometimes found and sometimes lost

The greatest ones are worth the cost

"We all share the memories made

And hope they last and never fade

I am yours, and you are mine

Friends until the end of time"

_His eyes watered a bit. The last time he stepped inside had been over a year ago, for his eighth birthday. Everything had been perfect, from the games to the cake, to having special attention from Freddy and his friends. And more importantly, Mike remembered the love and smiles from both of his parents._

_They were gone now, and what was once a happy memory suddenly became bittersweet._

_He and his friend had a good day today, but old wounds still stung. An arm wrapped around his shoulder. Taking the hint, he leaned into his friend. Carefully, Mike reached up to wipe his face._

"_Are you okay, Mike?" came the soft Irish brogue._

"_Y-ye...n...yes," he said, battling between keeping up appearances and pushing back those memories._

"_We can leave."_

"_N-no, I just...give me a moment."_

_Mike forced up a smile and wiped his eyes again._

"_No one should be...should be sad here," he said quietly._

"_Okay," came the response. "But if it becomes too much, we can go home."_

"_Thanks," Mike whispered._

_His best friend smiled._

"_You know I'll always protect you."_

* * *

**Tuesday, November 9, 1993**

The light blue Suzuki pulled into the Freddy's parking lot.

_You shouldn't be here. It's dangerous. You'll end up like the others_.

_You'll end up like_ him.

Mike tried to keep those thoughts back as he approached the white and purple building.

_No,_ he thought in defiance, _I won't_.

He parked by the lonely green truck and got out, locking the door and slamming it behind him.

The moon shone brightly tonight, and for a second, the restaurant with its flickering sign and dirty windows showed signs of its heyday. Even if briefly, Mike allowed himself to believe it, to remember the sense of wonder, the sounds of the games and the shows, the other children excitedly laughing and running.

Once upon a time, he believed no one should be unhappy at Freddy's. Maybe a part of him still believed it. A part that longed to preserve that childhood love, and everything this place once stood for.

He caught a shape in the window, something moving in the moonlight. Mike stepped closer. The figure morphed into his own reflection, which he quickly turned away from.

For a moment, he swore he saw a little boy instead.

Only his mind playing a trick.

Mike shook his head as he entered the building. He quickly cleared the tiny waiting area and the hostess stand. At the far right of the room, the janitor ran a cloth over the stage, giving the worn wood a bit of polish. A wistful smile crossed the old man's lips as he occasionally glanced up to the animatronics, before it faded to gloom as he went back to his task. Around him, the dining room gleamed, having been swept and mopped up. Even the chairs and game cabinets seemed less worn.

The janitor glanced up at the familiar welcome jingle, half-expecting the same foul-mouthed kid who came in last night, and half-expecting someone new. He hardly batted an eye when he recognized Mike, and simply went back to wiping down the stage.

"Heh. Almost expected you to be gone, kid," the janitor said. "Tryin' to beat the record?"

Mike silently watched him for a moment, looking for any trace of shenanigans.

"Cut the bullshit," he said at last. "What do you know?"

"Nothin', like I told you last night. I just tidy up."

"I don't believe you."

The janitor shrugged, then moved down the stage. A small, resigned note crept into his voice.

"Don't care if you do."

Mike narrowed his eyes as he stepped forward. He quickly glanced up at the animatronics, then back to the janitor.

"You've seen people come and go."

"Yep," the janitor confirmed. "Real shame. This place could use some new blood."

The man finished up, tucked the rag in his pocket and grabbed the lid to the varnish jar from one of the tables.

"But I bet you won't last the week," he continued, screwing it on. "They never do."

"What if I do?" Mike asked.

That actually got the old man to laugh. Mike kept up his glare as he crossed his arms.

"I'm serious."

The janitor smirked.

"I like you, kid," he said. "You're not like the others."

Mike tried to hide his sudden confusion.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You got something about you, kid," the janitor explained. "A spark the others lacked. Like you almost _want_ to be here."

Mike stared him down.

"You don't know shit about me."

The janitor looked him over, his face brightening a little.

"I know this: you came back here after two nights. Can't remember the last time that's happened. And that you're here after last night, well, maybe you're onto something."

A smirk as the old man headed for the front door, half-heartedly throwing Mike a wave behind him.

"See you tomorrow, kid."

"My name's _Mike_!"

If the janitor said anything else, Mike didn't hear it over the jingle. He glared at the door, then checked his watch.

Fuck. The talk with the janitor took up more time than he thought, and a complete building check was out of the question. Mike glanced to the bathrooms, then down the long halls. Maybe if he was quick…

He ran for the bathrooms, already mentally timing himself. Less than two minutes before midnight, and he counted every second as he finished up and washed his hands. A quick glance to his watch showed 12:01am - hadn't he counted correctly? - and that was all the incentive he needed to make a mad dash for the office.

Mike hoped the footsteps he heard behind him were his own echoing against the tile floor. He dared to glance behind him. He caught a flash of purple movement and let himself believe his own mind played tricks on him, that they weren't quite moving yet.

He shut the door behind him just in case.

* * *

**Wednesday, November 9, 1993**

Tonight's phone message was already playing as he got into the office. The heavy door slid into place as he collapsed into his seat.

"-doing great! Most people don't last this long."

_That's what the janitor keeps saying_, Mike thought, turning on the monitor.

"I mean, you know," Phone Guy said, "th-they usually move on to other things by now. I'm not implying that they died. Th-th-that's not what I meant."

A thought flashed in Mike's mind, one that brought him little comfort.

_It can happen to you too_.

He pushed it away, back into the furthest reaches of his mind where it belonged, and instead looked at the stage view. Mike's heart skipped a beat when he noticed Bonnie missing, and he briefly wondered if he hadn't just had a near-miss.

"Uh, anyway, I better not take up too much of your time," Phone Guy continued. "Things start getting _real_ tonight."

"Like they haven't already?" Mike gasped, turning on the hall light.

Nothing showed up in the window, but he had no way of knowing if Bonnie stood right behind that door. Better not risk it until he confirmed the rabbit's whereabouts. With this and and last night on his mind, Mike relented to taking Phone Guy a bit more seriously. His advice to pay attention to Foxy had been the difference between making it until morning and being skewered alive.

God, why did he come back?

He knew why. It didn't matter right now.

"U-uh...hey, listen, I had an idea," Phone Guy said. "If you happen to get caught and want to avoid getting stuffed into a Freddy suit, uh, try playing dead! You know, go limp. Then there's a chance that, uh, maybe they'll think that you're an empty costume instead."

"Wait, _what_?"

"Then again if they think you're an empty costume, they might try to...stuff a metal skeleton into you. I wonder how that would work…"

Mike stared at the phone as he tried to get the mental image of the endoskeleton in the back forcefully replacing his own out of his head. His eyes went back to the closed right door and tried to determine if he heard heavy footsteps over the sound of his pounding heart.

"Yeah, never mind, scratch that," Phone Guy said. "I-it's best just not to get caught."

"_Obviously!_"

"Um...okay, I'll leave you to it. See you on the flip side."

The call clicked off, leaving Mike alone in the dingy office, forced to listen to the sudden silence broken only by the buzzing of the light overhead and the building settling in for the night. As he checked the cameras for Bonnie, he mulled over tonight's call, the implications of fates unknown.

_It can happen to you too_.

Both Phone Guy and the janitor made it clear that lasting beyond two nights was something of a miracle. Which begged the obvious question: what became of those before him? Did they actually quit?

Or did they...?

Another thought came to mind, one he pushed back almost immediately.

Years ago, he reminded himself. It didn't matter now anyway, not when he had other priorities to focus on.

The dining room camera showed a tall pair of ears walking in front of it. The stage show still contained one bear and one chicken. The curtains at Pirate Cove remained still for now.

Only to save power did Mike reach over to open the door.

* * *

After last night, Mike diligently kept an eye on the cameras and an ear on the hallways. Bonnie and Chica changed up their routines before; he expected tonight to be no different. And he knew to _definitely_ be on guard for Foxy.

Not long after the call, the power went off. Mike jumped and grabbed for his flashlight, already poised and ready for any intruders. Even when the lights came back on a moment later, every one of his senses remained alert and on edge as he waited for the monitor to power back on. The three useless ones flickered for a second before their screens went dark again. Mike grimaced and turned them off so they wouldn't waste power.

The janitor was right. Waylon _really_ needed to do something about the building power. Had any of the animatronics been closer, that time in the dark could have been the difference between life and death.

When the main monitor came back on, it defaulted to the stage show. Freddy stood alone. Mike quickly flipped through the views until he found Chica dancing alone in the dining room, and Bonnie lingering in the back room by the masks. He then quickly checked on Foxy, before a thought came to him.

Had the endoskeleton moved?

Mike quickly flipped back to the back room. He caught Bonnie's back as he left and made a mental note that the rabbit was now in the dining room before he checked the endoskeleton. It still sat on the work table, quiet and still. Was its head now tilted slightly, or had it already been like that?

Unimportant. Probably just his mind playing tricks. Mike went back to diligently keeping an eye on the others, and watching for changes in routine. His diligence paid off. Twice in the last hour, Chica came by the office.

The first time, he heard footsteps, and hit the door light. The lit-up the hallway revealed her staring him down from the office window. Mike turned off the light and shut the door. He grabbed the flashlight then, and shone the beam through the window. Chica's dark eyelids came down in a slow blink, indicating the age of her robotics as they stalled for a second, then lifted again. Mike heard the clicking of her beak through the glass as the jaw lowered, revealing her silver endoskeleton teeth in the back of her mouth.

Was that a child's giggle he heard coming from her? Or did he imagine it?

Either way, Chica realized getting into the office was a fruitless endeavor, and turned to go.

The second time she came by, Mike got a small scare when she seemingly disappeared from view on the cameras. On a hunch, he shut the right door. Hardly a second after it clicked shut, a soft knocking echoed off the metal slab, a sign that his instincts only barely spared him.

_Let me in_.

Mike immediately recognized the voice, having memorized it from childhood. A light, cheery, sing-song feminine voice that often accompanied two others in song, a soprano to compliment a soft tenor and a boisterous baritone. Something else now underlied it.

Something surreal, unnatural, and impossible to put his finger on.

"Hell no!" Mike yelled in response. "Go away!"

Silence followed, broken only after a moment by the sound of her footsteps. Mike turned the flashlight on and shone it through the window in time to see Chica shoot a knowing glance at him before her large yellow body disappeared from view.

Only after he opened the door again did Mike pinpoint the wrongness of the voice he heard.

That the tone sounded...haunted.

That something else spoke with her, distorted her normal cheer into something that set him on edge.

With it came the realization that the robot hadn't _actually_ said anything at all, that the voice simply popped into his mind, not unlike when he investigated the creepy marionette on his first night.

God, was he losing it?

Mike patted his breast pocket for his cigarette pack. Upon retrieving it, he stood up only long enough to wrestle his lighter from his pants pocket. To hell with what Waylon might say; his nerves were shot. This place got to him more badly than he wanted to admit, and panicking would do him no favors if he wanted to make it another night.

The lighter wedged itself under his wallet. Mike frowned. He worked the monitor with one hand while the other to clear his pocket.

Dancers in the dining room. Singer on the stage. Crook behind the curtain.

He turned the monitor off for a second to conserve power, and set the wallet on the desk. Mike finally accessed the lighter under it and sat back down in his chair. The seat groaned a little under his weight. Two clicks brought the lighter's flame to life, and from the first inhale of smoke, the nicotine soothed his nerves and cleared his mind

For a moment, the restaurant felt peaceful, almost normal, which in and of itself made Mike tense again. He relaxed only after he took another drag. Mike glanced to his wallet on the desk and noticed the corner of a photo poking out from it. Holding the cigarette in his teeth, he opened the wallet to pull it out.

Vanna's laughing face greeted him, and briefly, Mike returned it. He allowed the photo to bring him back in time for a moment. They went out for drinks on her birthday, and while they both had other photos detailing the night's shenanigans with some of their friends, this one, he cherished deeply. Everything from the delight in Vanna's eyes, the tilt of her head, her cocktail dress, even the drinks on the table in front of her evoked a pure sense of happiness. It broke through his current horror and momentarily distracted him from other weird thoughts.

Mike quickly put the photo back, making sure to put it in front of the only other picture he kept with him. He set his wallet down on the desk for the moment and took another drag, then flicked the ash over the tile floor where he knew it'd blend in with the dust the janitor never seemed to get around to. Afterwards, he flipped the monitor back on to do another roll call.

Cam 1B flickered on, showing Chica alone in the dining room, offering her cupcake to unseen guests. Mike was about to check on the others when he caught a bit of movement in the corner of his eye.

Something moved between the tables: a long, thin shadow he hadn't seen before. Mike changed back to Cam 1C to ensure Foxy stayed put, then moved back to the dining room.

Chica wandered in front of the camera in that time, blocking the shadow's prior location. It only served as a small hindrance. Mike quickly located the shadowy thing again and tracked its movements. The long tablecloths shifted a bit, like something dipped and slithered underneath them. He kept his ears perked for any sound that might warrant his attention, but right now, he needed to figure out what that shadow was, or if it was a threat to him. After his near run-in with Foxy last night, Mike knew the last thing he wanted was any more unpleasant surprises.

Speaking of Foxy, he snuck in a quick peek to ensure the pirate stayed put, then went back to the dining room. Mike ignored Bonnie and Freddy for a few seconds. He listened for the former and trusted the latter to stay in his spot as he'd been doing the last two nights. Phone Guy said he rarely left, didn't he?

Cloth fluttered on one of the farther tables now, hiding whatever just ducked under it from view. Mike sucked on the cigarette as he watched that back table. He kept his eyes focused on the dark shadows behind it. Sure enough, some unidentifiable black form moved into them, the shadowy thing almost immediately blending into the darkness. Chica's routine lead her to the back of the room. She temporarily provided a barrier between the shadow and Mike.

After dealing with Foxy and his borderline self-aware intelligence last night, Mike had no doubts the shadow planned its movements carefully to try to keep out of his sight.

That it knew he could be watching.

Another drag, another flick of ash, another check-in, another glance to his power levels.

78%, no thanks to Chica.

Mike hated this game, this anticipation. And he hated any change in routine from that first night, because it always spelled inevitable trouble. Cradling the cigarette between two fingers, he flipped to Pirate Cove first, then the backstage area to try to locate Bonnie.

The screen blacked out. Above him, the lights flickered. Mike glanced up at the ceiling light, willing it to not go out. It blipped for half a second, then settled. The monitor came back then, getting Mike's attention as he checked the back room. The damn rabbit wasn't there, but the brown endoskeleton eyes now glanced up to the camera.

Mike froze, not daring to even breathe, though in that moment, he wondered if he even _could_. The camera blacked out, and when it came back on, the endoskeleton faced forward again. Mike let out a painful breath. He pushed the weirdness back as his mind resumed his original task of finding Bonnie.

He began flipping through views, now used to them enough that he needed only a quick glance to determine if the purple behemoth was in them.

Empty closet, empty dining room, empty hallway.

"Fuck, not this again," Mike whispered.

He thought he heard something and kicked his chair over to the left door to check that blindspot.

Empty.

Mike shut the door anyway, not trusting any of them now. He went back to the monitor, and found Bonnie in the west hallway corner. The rabbit casually glanced up at the camera. The shadows turned his usual smile into something stern.

Determined.

Mike took a drag, the cigarette now on its last legs. At least his instincts were trustworthy.

Bonnie's head abruptly jerked back to an impossible angle, his mouth wide open, his red eyes crazed and bright. It reverted back a second later, then continued on with its insane twitching. Adrenaline kicking in, Mike slammed the monitor button to shut it off. The cigarette fell to the floor and left an ash mark on the white tile. Mike ignored it as he turned the monitor back on.

Nothing showed in the hallway corner now except a poster of Freddy, several documents tacked to the wall, and some trash that the poor excuse of a janitor left on the floor. Mike blinked, gaped at the camera view for a moment, then remembered the cigarette. Quickly, he stamped it out, then kicked the butt under the desk.

The hell even _was_ that? Even if the animatronics had surprisingly good programming, there was _no way_ Bonnie could move his head that fast.

No. Fucking. Way.

A rich, deep laugh echoed throughout the building. Mike never heard it before, and prioritized finding its source over everything else...if he _even_ heard it at all, and it wasn't his mind messing with him again. He still hadn't eliminated that as a possibility with Chica earlier.

Pushing that thought aside, Mike began flipping through the views again.

Foxy peeked out of his starry curtains - lying manager - and both halls and their corners stood clear. Dining room showed Bonnie had since rejoined Chica. Stage show was empty. Backstage clear and nothing lurked by the bathrooms. Mike started another cycle, paused at Pirate Cove and ignored Foxy's stare as realization dawned on him.

The stage show was empty.

Mike flipped back to it to be certain. A gray wall popped up, broken by a checkered lining and part of a cloud set piece. Silver stars hung from the ceiling. None of the animatronics stood there any longer.

"Shit," he whispered. "Freddy, was that you?"

Another change in the routine, another element to the deadly game. He had to keep an eye on the others. Had to find Freddy. Had to find the shadow thing. Had to keep them all from getting in.

For the first time in he didn't know how long, Mike checked the power levels. His stomach dropped when he saw the numbers.

62%.

How had it dropped that much? It wasn't even 3am yet!

His eyes suddenly went over to the left door, which he'd stupidly left closed since he last dealt with Bonnie. Mike hit the switch to open it, his breathing heavy from panic. Every ounce of power left, he needed to ration carefully for the rest of the night. That meant balancing every camera check, every sound he heard, every use of the doors perfectly.

First things first, find Freddy. After that, he could better determine where to go from there.

Mike ran another round of check-ins. He looked for anything resembling Freddy's soft brown color, his top hat, his ears. The others, he found easily, and dealt with them accordingly. He also kept the shadowy creature in the back of his mind, knowing to try to locate that too.

It only added to his paranoia. The shadow thing hid well in the shadows, and from what little he glimpsed of it, it hid easily behind the much larger animatronics and knew how to utilize its surroundings. How was he to defend himself if he couldn't locate it? Mike glanced to the open doors on either side of him. Had it already gotten in?

...Best not to think about it.

A glimpse of the west hall showed the ten children's sketches and their varying subjects of smiling children and animatronics, cake, balloons, happy families, and the yellow Bonnie portrait. Mike practically memorized that view and never bothered with it anymore.

This time, though, black scribbles infected every single one, blacking out the eyes and mouths of their subjects, with the once-white backgrounds now heavily colored with black crayon. Dark streaks dripped down from the eyes and mouths, almost like blood.

Mike blinked, and the drawings became normal again. He blinked a few times, then shoved the thought aside. Finding Freddy took priority over whatever weirdness this was.

On his third round of checking the cameras, the blind spots, and flicking his flashlight down the hallway in the rare times he felt confident enough, Mike briefly remembered something Phone Guy told him yesterday, something about Freddy liking the dark.

He started paying more attention to the shadows, and finally noticed the two pinpricks in the back of the dining area, staring up at him from the shadows.

"There you are," Mike whispered darkly.

With the others accounted for at the moment, he shut off the monitor, then glanced to the open doors on both sides. The shadow thing still remained on his thoughts as he picked up the flashlight, turned it on, and made quick checks of both hallways.

Nothing weird so far. Just the tiles, the sketches on the walls, the silvery stars twirling from the ceiling. Mike did a quick search of his office then, checking behind him, under the desk, even the ceiling. He found nothing out of the ordinary.

Mike turned the monitor back on, to Freddy still hiding in the back of the dining room, Foxy pacing in front of the now-open curtains - shit he _really_ didn't need right now - and Bonnie examining the endoskeleton in the back room. All the while, Mike kept his power levels under strict watch. The building's lights flickered again. Mike willed them not to go out as Phone Guy's comments about an empty costume crept over his thoughts. He quickly glanced at the other cameras.

_It can happen to you too_.

"Stop it," he told himself. "I'm fine."

The thought went back to the recesses of his mind where it belonged. Mike slowly realized he saw no yellow chick in any of the camera views. Great, now Chica was nowhere to be seen or heard. He checked both doors real quick, then flipped to the bathrooms, half-expecting her to be there. What he _actually_ saw caused him to leap from his seat.

Something blocked the camera, its face dark save for two shining pinpricks.

Freddy?

No, it couldn't be Freddy. What little edges Mike saw on the camera showed the thing's ovular face, but any further details disappeared in the darkness. Mike's hand reaching to hit the monitor dial to change views. Almost as if sensing what he intended to do, the thing backed away. The bathroom lights behind it filled in an aura around its face.

Red cheek circles. A white mask. Just enough light to pick out the thing's smile, the purple streaks down its face.

"..._You_," Mike whispered.

The Puppet nodded, though if it heard him, or merely wanted his attention, he couldn't be sure. It lifted one of its long, thin fingers and reached to gently tap it against the camera.

It pointed right at him.

"...Me?" Mike whispered.

Could it actually _see_ him?

The Puppet made no confirmation. It merely tilted its head down to look at something beyond the camera. It then pointed to the lower left corner of the screen, before it looked back up at Mike.

_Here_.

Like before, the word entered Mike's mind. Unlike before, it spoke with a strength that cracked any denial he might have attempted. The lights flickered before the screen cut to white noise. The monitor blacked out. Instinctively, Mike shut it off, then quickly checked the doors on either side.

Safe, for now.

He turned the monitor back on.

The bathroom camera now stood empty.

* * *

_Only half an hour to go_.

The thought brought him some comfort. Over the course of the night, Mike took extreme care and caution to keep them all away. Freddy remained in the dining room, though sometimes he shifted his location and forced Mike to search for the tiny lights that made up his eyes. Occasionally, Mike saw other weirdness in the camera views, none of which really stuck out in his mind.

Foxy got a sprint in. Mike headed him off when he saw the curtains open and no pirate fox in sight. Like before, Foxy banged on the door and made his way back down the hall. Bonnie had yet to come by again, and Chica seemed content to stay in the dining room. The Puppet made no other appearances.

A miracle in and of itself when he was now down to 15% power.

Mike heard footsteps in the left hallway, much softer than Foxy's distinct metal clanging. He wasted no time to hit the button to turn on the hall lights.

They flashed brightly to reveal something in the window. Mike saw the shape first, the long ears, the blood red eyes, the purple coloring that barely stood out against the pale fluorescent. His heart jolted as he got up to shut the door.

Bonnie paid him little heed. He just stared through the window as the heavy metal door cascaded down. Mike shut off the door light, and grabbed his flashlight. He shone it up on the animatronic. Bonnie kept staring at him. His eyelids lowered a little, giving the robot a calm, almost mocking expression. He turned to go, moving more quietly than expected of a machine of his size.

Mike opened the door when he left. A glance of his watch said he still had twenty-five minutes until his shift ended, and Bonnie's visit brought his power levels down to 9%.

He frantically flipped through the views, noted everyone's location, turned the monitor off, and just sat in the dingy room and listened. Mike loosened his tie a little and rolled up his sleeves. He then turned off the fan, knowing it would help, even if a little.

And at least make it easier to hear them.

Like Freddy's laugh, and how he now lingered in the bathrooms. Chica's bustling in the kitchen. Strange music in the left hallway. Foxy humming his little ditty.

Time slowly ticked by, every minute counting down to his doom, every camera check done as sparingly as possible. Around 5:53am, Mike started another roll call and willed the clock to go faster. He watched the power drop from 5% to 4%.

"Only seven minutes," he told himself. "I can do this."

Foxy paced again, and this close to 6am, Mike had half a mind to just go out the right door and duck into the hallway if he saw the curtains empty again. Freddy's pinprick eyes still shone from the bathrooms. Chica stood in the east hall and examined some of the drawings. She wasn't yet close enough to risk wasting power.

That left one unaccounted for. Mike groaned. He remained calm as he flipped through the views, turned off the monitor, and carefully checked the left hallway. It helped knowing Chica stood in the other one. The hallways weren't wide enough for two, and it meant fewer places to look.

Mike swallowed hard as he turned the monitor on again. He reminded himself that he always found Bonnie before. The purple behemoth was just very quick. He probably went to another room while Mike was stuck searching another.

The thought hardly brought him any comfort. His searching caused the power level to drop to 2%, and allowed panic to creep back in.

_Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie, _his mind screamed, his eyes desperately looking for ears, for purple. _Fucking _hell_, find Bonnie!_

Mike held his breath to listen to the familiar sounds of the building. All of Bonnie's usual places on the cameras remained empty, with the exception of Chica now occupying the dining room. Foxy still paced at Pirate Cove, and Mike didn't give a damn about Freddy so long as a quick glance confirmed the pinpricks remained in the bathrooms.

Hallways: empty. Backstage: empty. Hall closet: empty.

Mike hit both door lights and saw nothing in the flickering lights on either side. He briefly wondered if that bunny bastard figured out one of the camera's blind spots, and just stood there waiting for an opportunity.

_It's just a machine,_ he thought. _It can't think_.

Even if he more than knew better. Foxy, and now the Puppet, proved otherwise.

Mike turned on the monitor again to try to locate him. When another round came up empty, his entire body tensed. Every hair stood on end. His breath hitched with the distinct feeling that he no longer sat in the office alone. Mike heard a noise behind him, a long drawn out breath that brought to mind a zombie expelling dust and phlegm from its decaying lungs as it discharged the last dregs of life from its dying shell of a body.

_Shit_.

Mike froze, suddenly feeling very small and cornered. Part of him wanted to turn around and give into morbid curiosity. The other part wanted to make a break for it.

He never got to make that choice.

Mike choked a second later, his collar and tie forced against his throat as something strong grabbed him from behind and yanked him from his seat, his head thrown back with the force. He barely registered the feel of plush against his neck. The thick fingers tightening around his collar. Mike got only the briefest glimpse of the ceiling before he saw the dark form and glowing red circles.

The light overhead outlined the long ears, the edges of purple plush. The glow from the monitor lit up the permanently smiling face. The white teeth glint poignantly as the jaws opened wider.

_Got you!_ he seemed to say.

Prize in hand, Bonnie turned toward the left door, pulling Mike along behind him. The hard black and white tiles felt cold and slick through his slacks as the animatronic dragged him from the room. Mike flailed. His fingers desperately worked on undoing his tie. He grabbed for his collar when that proved fruitless and tried to wedge his fingers under the top button.

Bonnie's tight grip ensured it remained in place.

The animatronic paid him no heed, even as his prisoner tried to no avail to pry the metal fingers away from his collar. This close, Mike heard every whirr, every electrical hum, every faint hiss of compression as Bonnie took each step. Worse, the longer the animatronic kept his hold, the more Mike noticed a gut-wrenching stench.

Like something died, and had been dead for years.

He struggled to breathe, Mike tried to rip the collar away as his own weight forced it to dig deeper into his skin. Silver stars blurred overhead. Crayon drawings smudged together. He briefly glimpsed the large gift box by the prize counter as they entered the dining room. Despite his hazy vision, Mike swore he saw the lid close.

Darkness crept into the corners of his sight as they passed the tables. Foxy stopped his pacing and turned, his teeth glinting almost in glee, his glowing yellow eyes cutting through the increasing darkness. Some of the video game cabinets flickered on, almost as if in celebration of his inevitable demise. Mike wondered if he imagined Freddy laughing.

_It's happening_, he thought. _I'm next_.

Bonnie halted suddenly. The mechanical whirring jarred a bit, preventing the rabbit from taking another step. His fingers loosened. The old cloth grazed against Mike's neck as Bonnie let him tumble to the ground. Behind him, heavy metal footsteps tromped over to the curtains, followed by a rustle of cloth. Mike forced in a breath, coughed, and moved a hand to rub against his throat as three more sets of footsteps converged on the stage.

He barely heard his watch beep as he collapsed to the floor.


	7. First Day

_**Friday, July 13, 1973**_

_Several excited children anxiously filed inside the new restaurant. For weeks, they watched the ads on TV and saw the posters and colored billboards pop up in town to advertise the grand opening of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. The smiling bear in the top hat and his accompanying friends already made their impression. They drummed up excitement as the kids counted down to the end of the school year and part-way into summer vacation to see the grand opening._

_And now, in the middle of the summer, they stood in line with their parents as each family made their way inside. The ones up front tried to peek in through the windows where Freddy and his friends waited inside._

_Mike Schmidt lingered near his parents, keeping as far as he could from the rest of the crowd. He gripped his father's hand and nervously watched the doors as they got closer. Like the other children, he begged and pleaded to come here since he first saw the colorful posters around town, only to be told, "we'll think about it." His parents surprised him by bringing him here, much to his delight, but one thing Mike hadn't considered was the crowd._

_Johan clutched his son's hand, ran his thumb over the back of it._

_"We're almost there, sport," he said, with the usual strange enunciation of the nickname._

_His mother, Charlotte, patted his shoulder. Of the two of them, with her long black hair and clear blue eyes, it was easy to tell which parent Mike better resembled._

_"Just think," she said. "If you like this place, then we'll have your party here when you turn six next year."_

"_I don't want this many people," Mike mumbled._

_That got both of his parents to chuckle a bit. Charlotte glanced down at him._

"_We'll make it a small party," she promised._

_As soon as they entered, Mike got his first glimpse of the tables and video game cabinets inside. One small stage covered with a purple curtain stood in the back, with silver stars dotting the thick fabric. A bigger one over to the right barely stood in sight, with the same purple fabric hiding another surprise behind it. Crisp, clean scents mingled with the warm, mouthwatering smell of fresh pizza as they got closer, and the sounds of jingling tokens, music, and video games filled the entire restaurant. Already, children were running around and exploring._

_Mike held his parents' hands tighter, suddenly feeling very small and overwhelmed._

_"You've got a tight grip there, sport," Johan said._

_"It'll be okay, sweetie," Charlotte added. "Look, they have games here! Won't that be fun?"_

_Her son gave a meek nod as he watched the crowd. Many of the kids looked like they were having fun already, and a few families sat at some of the booths, with some staff taking orders and bringing over their sodas as they waited for pizza. A few curious guests approached the stages, where a tall, blond man gently directed them away. It wasn't time just yet._

_A woman stamped their hands, then ushered them in so she could tend to the next family. Mike stuck close to his parents as they entered the dining room._

_The glimpses from the foyer hardly did it any justice. Upon passing the hostess stand, everything almost immediately looked brighter and more exciting. Several small tables littered the checkered dining room floor, with game cabinets lining nearly every wall. A small prize corner sat in the far side of the room, with a glass counter showcasing small toys to be won. Bigger prizes sat on the shelves behind it, most of them plush dolls of the characters seen on the posters around town. Beside the counter stood a large present box that a few other curious children surrounded._

_Mike eased a bit and let go of his parents' hands. He dared to explore a little more. His parents went to one of the vacant tables to claim it, while Mike wandered to the prize counter, making sure to stay in their sight. Fewer children lingered here, and those around the present box began to wander off in search of something else to do. Somewhat alone, Mike felt even more at ease as he looked up at the prize shelves and got a better glimpse at the reason why he wanted to come to begin with: the friendly-looking characters._

_There was Freddy, in his top hat and bow tie, and even holding a plush microphone. The row of teddy bears made him smile. Mike then examined Freddy's friends, whom he had yet to learn their names. The Freddy toys shared some space with a purple bunny, one ear flopped over. Like Freddy, this one wore a bowtie, a red one to match its eyes. On the next shelf were a row of what he assumed to be ducks. Mike focused on the shirt it wore and smiled that the two words were easy to read: "LET'S EAT!" The duck held a pink cupcake that smiled too, and for that alone, he wanted that toy. The last one was a red fox with an eyepatch and hook. Mike hadn't seen that one on the posters, but its pirate theme intrigued him._

_He turned around to glance at the stages. The silver stars shone brightly against the purple fabric, and he noticed similar stars hung from the ceiling. They made the whole place seem...almost magical. For a moment, Mike didn't notice the noise or the other children. Only the stages, and the excitement of his own curiosity._

_At the table, he saw his parents finish taking an order, and accept a small cup of...something. Mike came back and took his own seat between his parents almost immediately. He eyed the cup - bearing Freddy's face, of course - and noted the gold coins inside. He nervously looked over at the games, and scooted his chair closer to his mother._

_"Not going to go play, sport?" Johan asked._

_He nudged the small cup of shiny tokens in Mike's direction. Mike sat quietly as he observed some of the other children at the game cabinets. Most of them looked bigger and older, and truthfully, they intimidated him. He shook his head, and his mother put an arm around him._

_"It's all right, Mikey," Charlotte said._

_She pushed some of her dark hair over her shoulder._

_"We'll just get our lunch and get more used to the atmosphere," she suggested. "There's plenty of time to play, and the waitress said the first show's going to start in a few."_

_Mike perked up at that._

_"Will we see Freddy?"_

"_And all of his friends," Charlotte promised._

_That satisfied Mike enough. He patiently sat in his seat, his eyes glued to the larger stage. A few more of the waitresses went around the room, informing guests of the show, and avoiding more running children. The lights dimmed a bit, and many children quieted, eager to see what hid behind the curtains._

_"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," an announcement came from the speakers. "Introducing Freddy Fazbear, and the Freddy Fazbear band!"_

_The curtains parted, and many of the children cheered. Mike, however, froze in his seat. Freddy and his band looked _bigger _than he expected. Even being many tables from the stage, he knew he would barely reach their waists, if that. And those jaws...they could probably bite his head off if they wanted!_

_Other children shared his thoughts as the crowd suddenly grew quiet. Freddy looked over the crowd, his movements endearingly lifelike. The subtle gestures in his face and blue eyes gave him a warm, welcoming presence. His animatronic mouth moved up and down, but the synced words flowed naturally._

"_Hello there, boys and girls!" he greeted the crowd, lifting a hand up in a wave._

_Freddy's voice held a deep, almost commanding tone, while simultaneously bearing a softness that brought to mind a boisterous, but caring uncle just bursting to play with his nieces and nephews. To his left, the purple rabbit adjusted and re-adjusted his shiny red guitar in his paws, giving the impression of nervousness. At his right, the yellow duck gently lifted her cupcake._

_Many of the children suddenly eased, and a few even cheered._

"_I'm Freddy Fazbear," Freddy continued, "and these are my friends, Bonnie the Bunny-"_

_The rabbit's red eyes looked over the crowd. His ears perked up when Freddy introduced him, and he hesitantly lifted one paw in a small wave._

"_H-hey there, kids!" Bonnie said, one toe gently nudging at the stage._

_His voice held a soft tenor to contrast Freddy's bass, and was notably quieter._

_Mike liked Bonnie already. He gave him an equally small, hesitant wave as a few more children cheered. Freddy then finished his introduction._

"_-And Chica the Chicken."_

_Chica's free hand swung rapidly over her head in an overly enthusiastic wave, practically on her toes with excitement. She then leaned down to look over the kids._

"_Oh my!" she said, her voice bubbling over with joy. "There's so many smiling faces today! Thank you all for coming to see us!"_

_She smiled as much as her beak would allow and held up her cupcake. Mike recognized it from the plush doll he eyed at the prize counter. So she wasn't a duck like he initially thought, but he liked her anyway. He smiled a little, better accepting the trio as he watched them move and speak. Chica turned the cupcake in her hand._

"_Don't you agree, Dulcie?"_

_The cupcake made a delighted chirp that earned a few laughs._

"_That's cute," Charlotte said, smiling._

_Mike relaxed more in his seat as he watched the show._

"_Now that we've all been introduced," Freddy said, "why don't we start a song?"_

"_Great idea, Freddy!" Chica said, followed by a chirp of agreement from Dulcie._

"_I-I'm ready to rock," Bonnie said, bravely, then turned to the audience. "How about you, boys and girls?"_

_Excited cheers filled the room, and on cue, Bonnie started a song on his guitar. Before long, music played on the stage speakers. All three of them sang a welcoming ditty, to the curiosity and excitement of their young audience._

_Mike calmed down a bit more as he watched the show. Now that the characters onstage spoke, laughed, and sang, all his residual fears disappeared. Despite their large size, the characters seemed friendly and fun. Mike found himself bouncing in his seat as they sang, and between the songs, he smiled as the animatronics spoke to the crowd - and they seemed to speak directly to the kids up front!_

_A few times, Mike looked up at his parents in a debate to ask their permission to go up closer. Each time, he shrunk back in his seat and just turned back to the show. Getting closer meant sitting with kids he didn't know. Besides, he had a good spot here. His chair gave him some height to see above the heads of the kids sitting in front of the stage._

_At some point, a waitress brought them their pizza, but Mike barely paid her any notice, more engrossed in the current song. Charlotte nudged him to eat. She watched her son reluctantly obey and make a small mess as he kept his focus on the show. Her napkin found its way to his cheeks to wipe the pizza sauce from his face when he finished._

_The band finished their third or fourth song to the applause of the children and some of the parents playing along._

"_Thank you very much, everybody!" Freddy said cheerfully._

"_We hope you've had fun!" Bonnie added._

"_And lots of delicious pizza!" Chica cheerfully chimed in._

"_Now it's time to introduce a very special friend of ours," Freddy said. "But first, we need to call him. Can you help us? His name is Foxy. Just say, 'Oh, Foxy'!"_

_Mike remembered the other plush on the counter, and smiled._

"_Oh, Foxy!" he chanted with the other children._

_A spotlight shone on the other set of curtains, the silver stars glittering against the purple fabric._

"_I don't think he heard us," Freddy said. "Oh, Foxy!"_

_Again, the children called for Foxy, and this time, they got a response._

"_Aye, these be me new mateys?"_

_Mike turned towards the new voice. The curtain on the smaller stage parted, to reveal a new animatronic. Unlike with the others, Mike shuddered as the pirate fox spoke. His eyes fixated on the sharp teeth and hook more than anything. Compared to the plush toy, Foxy looked __**scary**__! He tried not to imagine it biting him, or spearing him with that hook._

_While many of the other children cheered, Mike scooted his chair closer to Charlotte and quickly wrapped his arms around her waist._

"_I-I don't like him!" he cried._

_Charlotte put an arm around him, now concerned at how her son, only a moment before excited and enjoying himself, now clung to her in fear. Johan frowned and moved his own chair closer._

"_It is all right, sport," he said, trying to coax his son out of his mother's arms. "He will not hurt you. He is just putting on a show. Listen - you hear that, Michael? He is going to tell a story."_

"_I. Don't. Like. Him!" Mike said again, clinging tighter. "He'll bite!"_

"_Michael, he will not. He will stay on that stage."_

"_Johan..." Charlotte said._

_She gently shook her head as she ran a hand through Mike's hair in an attempt to calm him. Johan sighed, but nodded in agreement. He reached over to pick up the token cup. Some more of the games were open now as some of the older children either ate or curiously came over by Foxy's stage as he began to tell a pirate tale._

"_How about you and your mother go play, Michael?" he asked. He set the cup down in front of his son in hopes it would distract him. "I will stay here and keep that fox back."_

_Mike considered it for a moment, then looked up at Charlotte. She ran a hand down his back to calm him._

"_We'll protect you," she promised. She gave her son an encouraging smile. "Besides, we're here to have fun, right?"_

_Mike quietly nodded. After a moment of hesitation, he let go of his mother to slip from his seat. Charlotte stood, straightened her skirt, and lead him to the games furthest away from Foxy._

_There was a small alcove by the bathrooms, just beyond the main stage. Fewer kids were here, with most either at the show, or playing games closer to Foxy so they could still glance at him. Charlotte breathed a small sigh of relief and lead him over._

"_How about this one?" she suggested, pointing to the middle cabinet that from the art on top, looked like it starred Bonnie._

_It only took one look at the smiling rabbit's face to convince Mike to try it. After a quick rundown of the buttons and controls, and helping him with the first level, Charlotte found herself watching her son enjoy himself. He lead Bonnie around a maze to try to collect carrots while avoiding obstacles. Once Mike got engaged, he forgot all about Foxy as he concentrated on the game to safely collect the carrots and get Bonnie to the little house at the end of the maze._

_Every now and again, Charlotte stepped just beyond the alcove to catch part of Foxy's story about how he and his crew took down a rogue band of pirates to take their treasure. While the story itself kept its young audience in mind, she found herself engaged by the excitement of swords clashing and battles at sea._

_Mike, however, kept playing the game. Like many others in this corner, its simple design allowed even the smallest visitors an experience they could accomplish on their own, and when he completed the maze, he was rewarded with fireworks and a "GOOD JOB!" flashing on the screen. The machine hummed. Mike leaned down to put another token in and noticed four pieces of paper sticking from the machine._

"_Mommy, what are these?"_

_Charlotte broke away from the pirate tale to see what her son pointed to._

"_They're tickets," she answered. "You can trade them for prizes."_

_Mike immediately thought about the plush toys he saw earlier._

"_Can we get some?"_

"_Why don't you try to earn some more tickets first?" Charlotte said, sweetly._

_Mike nodded, and pushed the button to start the maze again. He reached a few higher levels, with the occasional help from Charlotte. After a few more attempts, Mike decided he was done._

"_Can we try a different game?" he asked._

_Charlotte smiled, glad that her son was better getting into exploring and trying some of the new things this place had to offer._

"_Yes, Mikey. Let's go find another game."_

_She gently detached the tickets and held them for her son, and for a long while, helped him with some of the other games available. By the time they finished, they had a few handfuls of tickets. Mike practically dragged Charlotte to the prize counter to see what they could get._

_The nice lady behind the counter counted them, then handed them back. Sixty-six tickets. Mike eyed the plush toys on the counter._

"_Can I get one?"_

_Charlotte looked at the prices and shook her head. 1,500 tickets for one of the plush toys._

"_I'm afraid we don't have enough, Mikey," she said._

_She watched his face fall with disappointment. Charlotte smiled, knowing just how to lift his mood again._

"_But that just means we get to play some more," she told him, "and if we still don't have enough, we'll just have to come back again."_

"_...Oh," Mike said, but he perked right up again. "Then we can keep coming to see Freddy?"_

"_Yes," Charlotte promised._

_She looked in time to see the curtains close at Pirate Cove. The animatronics on the main stage came to life again._

"_Speaking of," she said, turning Mike towards the stage, "it looks like they're about to start another show."_

_Her son grabbed her hand. Charlotte laughed as Mike pulled her back to the table, where Johan waited._

"_Looks like you two had fun," he said._

"_Much," Charlotte replied, taking her seat._

"_We got tickets!" Mike exclaimed, coming up to his father to show him. "And I'm gonna get more so I can get a toy!"_

_Johan smiled, then watched his son pull himself back in his seat._

"_Which toy will you get?"_

"_...I don't know," Mike confessed. "But I want one!"_

_Charlotte grabbed one of the three remaining slices of pizza to munch on as Freddy got his young audience's attention._

"_Wasn't that fun, boy and girls?"_

"_Yes!" most of the children cried out._

"_We like Foxy's stories too," Bonnie said, his red eyes looking over the crowd._

_Dulcie chirped, and Chica laughed._

"_Dulcie really liked the part about finding treasure. And speaking of treasure, we have another treat for you!"_

_Freddy nodded. He moved his microphone close to his mouth to speak again._

"_And a special friend of ours will help make that happen."_

_He gestured with his empty hand to a spot in front of the stage. Over at the edge of the stage, a blond man in a green polo and black slacks walked right to the spot where Freddy gestured. The embroidered Freddy head above the polo pocket and the name tag just above it marked him as an employee. He held a clipboard in his hand, and carefully looked between the crowd of children and the animatronics._

"_Thank you, Freddy!" he said, before he turned to the crowd. "First, I need you to take your seats with your families."_

_The children sitting on the floor got up to go take their seats at the tables. The blond employee nodded his approval._

"_Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," he said, "I want to show you what makes Freddy Fazbear's Pizza truly magical. Please, remain in your seats and prepare to be amazed at what you're about to see."_

_Mike perked a bit more, eager to see what awaited when Foxy's curtain opened again. He shuddered and ducked down. Charlotte put a hand on his back, assuring him it was fine._

"_Now," the man announced, knowing he had the curious children's attention, "Freddy and his friends would like to say hello - in person!"_

_As if on cue, Bonnie gently set his guitar on a nearby stand. Freddy reached up and tipped his hat, then gave a small bow before he looked over the crowd. Carefully, the animatronic lifted one large, brown leg and stepped forward. Some children looked wary, while others stared in awe. Freddy took another step, then another, He carefully calculated his way down the three large steps in front of the stage until he stood beside the employee. Chica followed next, staying to Freddy's stage left, then Bonnie to his right._

_Mike rose from his seat. He stood on his chair, his hands pressed against the table, his eyes bugging at the sight. He didn't notice the wary looks in his parents' faces, only that this felt like magic!_

_From the side, Foxy moved from Pirate Cove to stand beside Bonnie - a sight that got Mike and a few other children to duck down and move closer to a parent. The employee with the clipboard seemed to take note of it, and pulled a device from his pocket. He tapped a few buttons._

_The band began to move, their gaits jerky and clearly robotic, but balanced and careful. Freddy moved to a table up front, where an African-American family sat. He bent down to the child's level and tipped his hat to them._

"_Good afternoon, folks," he said. "It's very good to see you!"_

_The little girl sitting at the table giggled. Her thick braids swayed as she laughed, while her parents tried not to look too uncomfortable._

"_Hi, Freddy!" the girl said cheerfully._

"_Hello!" Freddy replied. "And what's your name?"_

"_Kamili! And this is my mommy and daddy!"_

"_How nice to meet you all!" Freddy replied. "Are you all having fun?"_

"_Yes!" Kamili answered before her parents had the chance to get a word out._

_Both of them awkwardly nodded in agreement. Her mother finally found her voice._

"_This is...strange! You can walk?"_

_Freddy laughed, then stood up straight again._

"_And sing," he replied, "and play. I'm happy you came to see me and my friends today!"_

_A lot of the children in the crowd chattered excitedly, while many parents tried to decide between wariness and unease at the large animatronics, and amazement at what they could do. The more Freddy spoke with Kamili's family, the more the tension in the room lowered._

_Freddy offered a paw to shake, which Kamili's father hesitantly took. He relaxed the moment he realized how gentle the bot's grip was. That gesture and his smile did the trick to reassure other parents in the room. Freddy politely bid them goodbye to see other families._

_The ice broken, the other animatronics began to walk around the room too, going to the tables to talk with the families. A few children slipped from their seats to get a closer look. One little boy ran up to hug Freddy's leg, a motion that once again concerned parents, mostly out of fear that the robot might accidentally trample him. To their surprise (and relief), Freddy immediately stopped walking, looked down, and gently reached a paw to pat the boy's head._

_Better assured that the designer of the animatronics kept such things in mind, the new tension in the room disappeared as quickly as the tension before it._

_Mike tried to patiently wait his turn, though anytime Foxy seemed to get too close, Charlotte quickly pulled him closer to her to block the pirate fox from his sight. She and Johan both noticed that he skipped tables where children, like Mike, didn't take very kindly to him._

"_H-hello there!" came a soft, shy tenor. "Did you enjoy the show?"_

_Mike perked up from Charlotte's arms. He looked up with wide eyes at the large animatronic rabbit in front of him._

_Bonnie crouched down to his level, his paws held in front of him like a real bunny waiting to hop. His ears twitched, the most lifelike part of him._

_Mike gave a hurried nod, and shyly moved closer to Charlotte, who assured him it was all right. Johan placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Bonnie seemed to pick up on it. He lowered his ears a little and took a small step back._

"_I-it's okay if you don't want to talk," he said, wringing his paws a little. "I'm...kind of shy too."_

"_-Mike!" Mike said, suddenly._

_He pulled away from Charlotte and slipped from his seat. He'd waited for this, and he didn't want the opportunity to pass._

"_I'm Mike!"_

_Bonnie's ears straightened, and his posture became more delighted as Mike stood before him._

"_N-nice to meet you, Mike! And your mommy and daddy."_

_Charlotte played along, though her posture remained a little tense._

"_And you too...Bonnie, right?"_

_Bonnie nodded, and carefully offered his paw to her. Charlotte accepted it and eased with how soft the rabbit's plush was. Johan returned the gesture when Bonnie offered his paw to him too. Like his wife, he noted the gentle, almost hesitant grip that fit the animatronic's programmed personality._

_Johan smiled, then looked down to his son._

"_How about you tell Mr. Bunny about the game you played?" he asked._

"_Oh!" Mike suddenly grew excited, now that he had something to talk about. "I helped you find carrots! And got away from that big rock and then I got tickets!"_

_Bonnie tilted his head in a way that made his permanent grin appear to widen._

"_Th-thanks for getting m-me home," he replied, softly. "D-do you know what you'll get with your tickets?"_

"_Not yet," Mike said, then remembered what Charlotte told him. "But if I don't, then that means I can come back see you guys again, right?"_

_Bonnie nodded. His ears straightened with delight again._

"_R-right!" he agreed. "We'd love to see you again. We like making n-new friends!"_

_Mike found himself smiling more._

"_I do too!"_

"_And sp-speaking of new friends," Bonnie said, straightening up a bit, "there's more to make! I'll s-see you later, Mike...okay?"_

_Mike nodded, happy enough to have gotten to talk to him. He waved enthusiastically._

"_Okay, bye!"_

_Bonnie gave the Schmidt family a small wave, then wandered off to find another table. The moment he left, Johan shook his head, then moved to finish the rest of his pizza slice._

"_...Why did they give him a girl's name?"_

"_Oh, shush," Charlotte said, then looked down to Mike. "Did you enjoy that, sweetie?"_

_Mike nodded enthusiastically._

"_I wanna talk to Freddy too!"_

_Charlotte looked over the crowd. Freddy had since stopped visiting tables due the to many children surrounding him. The animatronic currently spoke to them one at a time. He quickly answered a question or returned a greeting before moving onto another child._

"_It looks like Freddy's busy at the moment," Charlotte said. "Why don't we play some more games while we wait?"_

_Mike considered it for a moment. He took his mother's hand and headed back to the alcove..._


	8. Hidden Secrets

**Wednesday, November 10, 1993**

The silver stars faded in and out of the darkness. They twirled on the ceiling above him and glinted in the morning light that shone through the dusty windows. A few coughs forced their way up Mike's throat. A painful groan escaped his lips. He reached up one hand to rub his aching neck.

Mike silently stared up at the ceiling. He winced as a reflected glimmer shone right in his eyes. His throat hurt, his lungs burned from blockage and coughing, and his heart still throbbed loudly in his ears. Every muscle felt weak and stiff. Every breath struggled to pass his lips, and he barely felt the hard, cold tile against his body.

Thoughts of laughter, of his mother, of playing games and taking in the wonder of this place faded away as the reality of last night seeped back in.

_Too close_, his mind told him. _That was _way _too close_.

The chill from the floor finally registered properly. Slowly, Mike pushed himself up. He expelled another cough as he bent forward. He brushed some strands of black hair out of his eyes, with a stray glance to his watch.

6:06am.

Had he really only been out for a few minutes?

Mike rubbed his eyes, then took in his surroundings. White cloth to his left, with pointed flecks of color on top. A small stage to his right, with closed purple curtains barely scraping the edges and silver stars shining over the cloth. Just beside Pirate Cove, the video game cabinets were off again. Before him, Mike saw the tops of his old dress shoes, then the checkered floor stretching beyond them into the dark hall. He caught part of the prize corner from here, the present box sitting innocently beside it.

Remembered music, jingles, and laughter echoed in his mind. Shadows of the past played before him. The warmth of that summer day two decades ago gave way to the coolness of autumn now.

A draft flew over the top of his head. Mike felt behind him until his fingers found the guard hat that must have fallen off when Bonnie dropped him. He pulled it back on, then reached beside him, utilizing the nearest chair to pull himself back to his feet.

The memory briefly lingered in his mind. The innocence of it unnerved him compared to the horror he endured literally minutes ago. Never would Mike have thought any of the characters were capable of...of _that_! He chose not to dwell on it, and instead focused on steadying himself on his feet. Mike pushed the chair back in place.

_Run_, his mind told him. _Run away and never look back_. _It's too dangerous here_.

His legs refused to obey, and his body responded with another small coughing fit. Mike clutched the chair and gathered his bearings. One hand loosened his top button. The movement of his fingers against his skin calmed him more than releasing the restricting cloth. His tie hung undone over his chest.

A deep breath, a glimpse to the party hats in front of him, a glance to the stage.

The Fazbear band's expressions were calm, greeting the new day. They stood in casual poses, their trademark items in hand. Mike narrowed his eyes at Bonnie in particular. He disliked the sudden pit in his stomach, the ripple of fear going down his spine. The bunny's shy kindness and gentle demeanor no longer existed. All Mike saw now was a monster, betrayed by his once-friendly demeanor.

"You..._bastard!_" he sneered.

Bonnie faced forward, his guitar in his paws, mouth closed, his red plastic eyes staring ahead. Mike _swore_ he saw the rabbit's jaw lower a smidge, the eyelids turn, the subtle movements turn the animatronic's simple smile into a smirk.

_Mocking_ him.

Mike narrowed his eyes, but another cough forced his attention away for a second.

When he looked up again, Bonnie once more appeared sweet and friendly, better matching the shy, benevolent character he saw in his memories. Mike blinked a few times in uncertainty, wondering if anger and fear altered his perceptions.

Not that it mattered right now.

That damn rabbit almost did him in. The aching and throbbing at his neck vividly kept the thoughts of Bonnie's shape in the office at the front of his mind, the feel of cold tile on his back and legs over his skin, the sheer strength and ease the animatronic utilized to drag him here.

Mike rubbed his throat again with a grimace at the pain. He let his heartbeat normalize and his stomach settle before he headed for the bathrooms to see if Bonnie's tugging on his collar left a bruise. God, it hurt like a bitch. He undid two more buttons as he walked, refusing to look at the animatronics as he passed them.

He flicked the bathroom light on and headed over to the sink. Mike pulled off his hat and tossed it on the counter. He tilted his head back and angled it carefully to get a look at the damage.

Red marks mingled with purple, the bruise still fresh and pulsing. He grimaced as he noted the edges already started to turn yellow. It still hurt to breathe. The marks would take days to heal.

"Shit," he whispered.

Just what he needed.

Mike gently ran his fingers over the skin. He winced at the pain. It looked worse than it felt, but it spoke enough of the near miss.

At how lucky he was that this was the worst of it.

"...Fuck this," he said quietly. "I quit. I fucking _quit_!"

He didn't bother to button his shirt or fix his tie. Mike grabbed his hat and deliberately turned his back to the mirror before putting it back on.

Get home, he told himself. Change. Wash the uniform, bring it back, never come back here again.

He walked out the bathroom and towards the front door with strong determination. It was time to listen to all the warning bells that rang loudly since his first night...to put away his search for answers. Before he even reached the hostess stand, a small sound entered his ears, faint, but distinct.

Like a tiny chime on a metal xylophone.

Mike perked and listened to make sure he heard things right. Another silvery chime rang, a different note, then another: a music box starting to unwind.

Weird; so far as he knew, nothing in the building made sounds like that. Except…

Mike immediately turned around to the prize counter across the room. From childhood, he recalled the present box played music, right before the Puppet inside popped out and handed the birthday child a gift. But the chimes he heard now were different, nowhere near the box. Rather...closer to the stage.

_No,_ Mike thought. _Ignore it. There's nothing for you here_.

He reached into his pocket for his keys and looked through them as he turned around again. Upon finding the car key, Mike looked up, expecting to pull open the front door and make a break for it.

Instead, he found himself standing in front of the stage and staring up at the animatronics. Mike blinked a few times, suddenly feeling hazy and light-headed, as if waking from a dream. At first, he noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Just Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica, still in their poses and watching an invisible audience.

Then he saw it.

The cupcake's eyes faced to the right. Freddy's index finger no longer gripped the microphone, but pointed. Bonnie did the same with his most forward hand.

Mike looked them over. His eyes tracked their pointing the bathrooms. The music also originated from that direction. When he looked back at the band, Bonnie and Freddy gripped their respective items properly, and the cupcake now faced forward with the rest of them. Mike reached up to rub his eyes. Once more, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"...Stop fucking with me."

Mike tightened his grip on his keys. His gaze went from the bathrooms to the front door. The chimes eerily continued to play. Thoughts of last night flashed in his mind, of the Puppet in the bathroom camera, how it pointed to him, then down.

It ignited just enough morbid curiosity to override Mike's desire to leave. He headed for the corner by the bathrooms, his eyes trailing up to the camera above him. Nothing but black and white tile, resin pizza decorations on either side, and a wall covered in children's drawings before him. With the camera facing the bathrooms, the entire wall was a blind spot.

The Puppet pointed to him on the camera last night. Or, more accurately, it pointed to the _wall_.

_Here_.

The word rang just as clearly as it did the night before, almost as musical as the tune playing right now. Images of the past and present intermingled, before he realized:

_There used to be games here_.

Mike remembered that Bonnie game clearly. He could almost feel the carrot-shaped joystick in his hand, the buttons under his fingers, see the ancient graphics. He even recalled a few tricks on later levels.

"Why did they close it up?" Mike whispered, not that he expected an answer.

He moved closer to the wall, where the sound rang loudest. It took another second to realize the sound came from _behind_ it, despite playing so clearly that he initially assumed the contrary.

_It stopped..._

"The fuck?" Mike whispered.

Was there something back there?

_Short_…

He pressed his ear to the wall to reassure himself that he wasn't just hearing things.

_Never to go again_…

No, he definitely heard something behind the wall. Clear as a bell, a music box played an old tune. The chimes slowed on the last few notes.

_When the old_..._man_…

The song started again as Mike examined the wall. He ran his fingers over the rough surface, looking for...he wasn't sure what just yet. A handle, maybe, a button, an indent. Something, _anything_, that could lead him back there. Back to the music box.

One point in the wall felt weak. Mike gently pushed into it. A tiny bit of plaster crumbled away, sprinkling over the black and white tiles.

He shouldn't. This was insanity. It would mean his job, and property damage he _really_ couldn't afford. Yet the Puppet still lingered on his mind. How it stared at him. Pointed to him. Lead him here. How the other animatronics captivated his interest and somehow ensured he didn't leave just yet.

_It wants to show me something_, Mike thought.

He pressed his ear to the wall. The chimes instantly cut off.

"...Hello?" Mike said quietly, calling to whatever was behind the wall. "I'm here."

Silence.

Mike awkwardly stood there for a moment, then tried another tactic. Gently, he knocked on the wall.

Slowly, a gentle tapping answered him, then scratched at the same spot on the other side. The music started again to prove he was on the right track, that he wasn't imagining things. Mike found the small indent and scratched at it again. The chimes grew louder as he chipped at the plaster.

The scratching on the other side stopped right before he broke through on his side. Mike pulled his hand back, half-expecting something to crawl out.

Nothing.

Only darkness, and a strange, musty smell. The music stopped playing again.

Mike grabbed for his flashlight and peeked in as best he could. He saw something back there, a dark...screen? An old video game cabinet?

Mike's eyes widened.

Not just any video game cabinet, either.

He turned off the flashlight and grabbed his keys. He held all but one in his hand, and used the remaining key to dig at the plaster and push it forward into the sealed room to hide the evidence of his destruction. He carved out about five inches in diameter, then turned on the flashlight again to look inside.

The first thing he noticed was the orange carrot-shaped joystick with its green button on top, and the two purple buttons beside it. Even under who knew how many years' worth of dust, he picked out the art of Bonnie's face, perfectly preserved with the others in a sort of time capsule behind the wall.

It still existed.

Mike moved the flashlight and searched the room as best he could, mindful of whatever it was that lead him back here. Something shuffled away to avoid the beam of light. Aside from it, he saw two more video game cabinets - starring Freddy and Chica, respectively - beside the Bonnie one. Mike tried to see if there was anything to the right. If the room contained anything else, he couldn't make it out.

The sound of the door jingle forced his attention away from his discovery. Mike turned off the flashlight and tucked it back. He quickly grabbed the nearest drawing to tack over the hole. Convinced the fruits of his curiosity remained safely tucked behind a stick figure Chica, he carefully slipped back behind the partition separating the dining room from the bathrooms.

The heavy footsteps and grumbled muttering told him that Waylon entered.

"Schmidt? I saw your car out there. You know you're supposed to be gone by now!"

Mike waited for the manager get further down the hallway. He then made a mad dash for the front door to avoid confrontation. The door jingle hid the sound of the ceiling tiles shifting as he left. Mike readied his keys again, more concerned with getting to his car and getting out before Waylon could investigate why he was still here.

He never noticed the long, thin figure making its way back into the present box when the front door shut behind him.

* * *

_**Friday, July 13, 1973**_

_For what seemed like a long time, Charlotte lead Mike around to try different games while they waited for an opening to see Freddy. Mike found a Chica game that let him catch the right ingredients to make a cupcake. It quickly consumed his attention, Freddy forgotten for a while as he directed his focus into moving Chica left and right. Charlotte took the game cabinet beside him to both keep an eye on him and try her hand at helping him win a few more tickets._

_By the time Mike grew tired of the game, he turned to see Freddy no longer stood where he was before. Maybe he went to another table? Mike started to wander off. Charlotte noticed and reached to gently take his arm, her own game forgotten._

"_You know better than to wander off, Mikey," she said._

_Mike tugged his arm from her grasp._

"_But Freddy's not there anymore!"_

_Charlotte glanced around the room, and sure enough, not just Freddy, but the other animatronics seemed to have disappeared too. She frowned, and quickly located the blond employee with the clipboard. Mike stayed by the games as his mother got the man's attention. He looked around the room, noticing, like Charlotte, that neither Bonnie or Chica or even Foxy was out anymore._

_Curious, he stepped away from the games and began to search for them, his mother forgotten as she spoke with the employee. Mike looked around the tables, found himself near Pirate Cove, then cycled back over to the prize counter._

_The strange, green-blue present box still sat beside it, its purple ribbon running up both sides and catching the light. Before, Mike paid it little heed when the stuffed toys on the shelves behind the prize counter intrigued him more. Now, without other children poking and prodding at it, it held slightly more interest._

_This close to it, Mike now noticed a thin, clear string - one a bit thicker than fishing wire - going up to the ceiling. He traced it down to the middle of the box, and when he gripped the edge and stood on his tiptoes, he noticed the string went into a tiny hole in the middle of the box._

_What was inside?_

_Something washed over him then, a gentle warmth from within. Mike pressed his ear to the side of the box. He tried to block out the noise of the games and the other children as he listened. Gently, he knocked on it. Mike heard a faint hollow echo, and frowned a little. Maybe the box was empty? But then, what was the string for? He knocked again, just to be sure._

_And to his surprise, something knocked back!_

_Mike took a step away from the box, not expecting it. He looked to either side. To his left, at the end of the counter, a red-haired teen with braces in her smile traded out another child's tickets for a pack of stickers. To the right, he saw other children with their families, playing games, or messing with the curtains at Pirate Cove. Effectively alone, Mike stepped toward the box again._

_The top two flaps pushed up slightly. Mike reached to grab the edge of the box. He pulled himself up onto his toes to peer inside the small tent now formed from the partially-opened flaps. In the shadows under it, he saw...a light._

_A small light, like a single white Christmas light, broke through the dark and stared at him. It remained still, though the slit of light from above revealed something smooth and white under the angled panels. Something curved and red rested beside it. A circle cheek, he realized, like a clown._

_A jack-in-the-box?_

_Mike gripped the edge of the box with one hand, then slid the other under the partially-opened panel. He started to lift it up to try to get a better look at the thing inside. The little white light suddenly vanished back down into the dark, taking the smooth bits of white and red with it. A soft gasp escaped his lips as the Mike let go of the panel. He once more stepped away from the box. From inside, he caught the distinct sound of something shifting around._

_A soft knocking came from one side of the present. Mike hesitated a moment, then approached the box again. Gently, he knocked on it. The thing in the box knocked back. Puzzled, Mike looked back at the top, at the now-closed flaps._

_Dare he try to look inside?_

_Another knock came from one side. Mike moved from the front of the box to follow the sound, and knocked again. A few joyful music box chimes played, a song he knew well._

All around the cobbler's bench...

_"Hello?" he asked, quietly._

_Mike heard a creaking sound and looked up. One of the flaps partially opened again. He moved back to the front of the box, wondering if the box was _

supposed _to do this. A game, he wondered? Figure out how to make the jack-in-the-box open?_

_That warm feeling returned as Mike once more stood on his tiptoes to peer into the box. He carefully gripped the edge, then started to lift up the flap a little more, to let in just enough light to see inside._

"_Michael Schmidt!"_

_Mike yelped and let go of the flap. The box snapped shut. He turned around to face his mother. The blond employee with the clipboard accompanied her. Charlotte frowned, one hand on her hip._

"_I told you not to wander off."_

"_I was just trying to find Freddy," Mike said._

_But then he found the box again, and got distracted with playing with its sole resident, whatever it was. He peered over his shoulder, half-hoping the clown inside might peek out again. The box stood silent and still once more, with no hint to it being anything more than just another prop._

_The blond man chuckled._

"_I don't think Freddy can fit in there."_

_Mike turned back to him and his mother, his cheeks suddenly getting pink. He knew the man was right. The box was big, but not _that _big. He turned back to look at the box, at the purple ribbon around its blue-green sides, the clear string going up to the ceiling._

"_...What's in there?" he asked, still wondering about the character lingering inside._

"_You'll find out soon," the man said, checking his clipboard._

* * *

The four flights of stairs stretched for an eternity as Mike headed up to his apartment, keys in hand and ready to unlock the door. As he reached the fourth floor, he stopped in the stairwell. A glance to his watch showed it was just after seven. He took a deep breath and reached to open the door leading into the hall.

Vanna should be in her apartment now. The last thing Mike wanted was confrontation. He felt like shit, probably looked like shit, and every weird thought he had the last three nights all fought for dominance in his mind. He stood there for another moment, his mind temporarily going blank as he tried to think of a way to brush her off if he ran into her. His neck throbbed, and his train of thought resumed as Bonnie's triumphant smile in the monitor glow dominated everything else.

Better to not let her ask questions at all if their paths crossed. Any answer he thought of sounded crazy.

Mike pulled the door open. The fourth floor hallway stretched before him, apartment doors on either side. Dim lights between the doors gave enough light to see the different numbers, the graying walls and fading dark green carpet. Some of them flickered, sputtering with the last bits of filament. Before, Mike considered it a small annoyance he kept forgetting to tell management about. Now, it momentarily reminded him of the west hall at Freddy's.

And how Bonnie's dark silhouette sometimes stood at the end of it.

Mike shook his head to banish the thought away. He was safe now, and just needed to get home. He swallowed hard and ignored the pain in his throat as he stepped with care, the carpet already muffling his footsteps as intended.

One of his neighbors had the TV up way too loud. Hints of mud mingled with old carpet smell. Children laughed behind another door, with a mother's voice gently chiding to stop playing and get ready for school. Incense and cigarette smoke lingered behind a door he passed. Water pipes ran, a dog yipped playfully, someone's toast burned, a baby cried.

Normal sounds and smells. Sounds and smells he normally never noticed or paid much mind to. Sounds and smells that made him realize _just_ how much more acutely he was aware of his surroundings than before.

A knob turned, and Mike froze. Hs eyes darted to quickly figure out which door was about to open, and whether or not he should run. Across the hall, an old man in a dingy old shirt, torn sweats, and slippers stepped out. Mike made it a point to avoid his gaze.

At least it wasn't Vanna.

One more door, he told himself. Unlock it and go inside.

He barely made it in. Mike flicked on the living room light, though he took care to shut the door as quietly as possible behind him. As soon as the lock slid into place, the rest of his strength immediately drained. Mike collapsed to the floor. He rested his back against the door as he stared up at the ceiling. From below, he heard another TV, or maybe a radio being played too loudly. Voices accompanied by background music, at any rate. The hum of the fridge in his kitchen joined in, along with footsteps from the ceiling where his upstairs neighbors undoubtedly got ready for work or school. His old wall clock ticked in the living room. The long silence between ticks said that he needed to change the battery soon.

_What is that place doing to me?_

Don't think about it anymore. Just breathe. Close your eyes. Relax.

Remember you're home.

Remember you're _safe_.

Mike sucked in a breath and held it, before he slowly let it out. He kicked off his shoes before making the attempt to stand. He tried to tune out the random sounds as he made his way to the bedroom. As soon as he entered, Mike threw the tie onto the dresser, then worked on unbuttoning his shirt. He shot a glance to the closet, and the bit of yellow poking out.

The Chica toy, he knew, and the rest of the junk he hadn't put away properly the other day.

He pondered a moment and wondered if he should make another attempt at reading the journal. Mike's heart panged, longing to know, yet at the same time, terrified of breaking that sacred trust. The six years the journal remained buried in the bottom of that box spoke enough of his hesitation.

_There's no way he can know_.

The thought brought him no comfort. Mike sighed as tossed his shirt near the tie before he walked over to the closet. His legs caved almost of their own accord as he reverently knelt down in front of the box. He took Chica and gently set her down beside him before he began his search through the knick-knacks for the journal.

His fingers found the leather spine and gripped it. Mike pulled it up from the bottom of the junk pile and held it in his hands for several moments to warm the cold leather. He closed his eyes and took a breath before he opened the journal, picking a random entry about three-quarters of the way through.

..._have been handling it well on my own, even with the panic attacks. I generally calm down enough before I leave that I can play it off as fatigue-_

_The words slowly melded together, until they were no longer recognizable as words, but rather...scribbles; black scratches of pen in random lines, darkening the page. Mike blinked to be certain his eyes weren't playing tricks, but the scribbles remained. He turned the pages one after the other. Each turn of the page revealed paper blackened with ink. Slowly, two circles appeared in the middle of each sheet, growing lighter with each page he turned, until a figure began to appear inside them, like an image in a camera lense._

_Before he could make out the figure, the pages suddenly tore out of the book, then fluttered around him. Mike snatched at the air for them, desperate to grab one and make out the figure. The papers swirled around him, the ink-soaked pages creating a dark void. After a few seconds of confusion, Mike caught one of the pages and held it tight in his fist. The brittle paper hardened until he felt something else in his left hand. Another page grazed the tips of his right index and middle fingers, before the sheet pressed into his palm, sticking firmly to it._

_Mike tried to let go of the first paper to try to pry the other one away, but found his hand stuck tightly. The texture felt familiar in his grip. His thumb found the top, and he heard the familiar click of a button._

_An arcade joystick._

_The remaining papers formed an arcade game before him. On either side of it Mike saw more papers form walls, speckled gray with a checkerboard pattern horizontally splitting them in two. The last few papers tacked themselves to the walls, becoming children's sketches. The yellow paper was old and brittle, and their subjects lacked the innocence he was used to. Mike picked out a few animatronics with black mouths and eyes, their smiles stretching and distorting into a mockery of what they should be. Silver stars hung from the ceiling._

_All around him, he heard faint whispers. Mike tried to pick out individual words. All he could determine was the voices sounded...young._

_Mike pulled away again. Once more, he found his left hand practically glued to the joystick, one he now noticed was orange with a green button on top, like a carrot. The other page that stuck to his hand become the rest of the panel, with his fingers stuck on two purple buttons and his palm fused just below them. He immediately realized which game he now stood before._

_Without thinking, Mike pressed down on the green joystick button._

_The screen flickered, before Bonnie's head and upper torso covered the screen. Every pixel detailed the animatronic's face, particularly the ears and eyes. Even the red bowtie had subtle animation. Bonnie waved, and the tops of his ears flipped up and then back down. An uneasy familiarity overcame Mike as he watched the simple, jerky game animation in a macabre mix of nostalgia and nightmare. He kicked the cabinet, desperate to make it let him go. The machine made a noise, and Bonnie's face glared. The pixel art captured the actual animatronic's creepiness only too well._

_Mike ignored Bonnie and pressed his foot against the cabinet. He tried to leverage his body backwards to free himself. Neither hand budged. All he accomplished was the painful sensation of tearing at his skin._

_Giving up, Mike looked back to the screen. The digital Bonnie's red eyes, even pixelated, somehow appeared...hollow. Drained. The once smiling face now gave way to a frown. The screen glitched a few times, gradually switching from the pixelated art to a real image of the animatronic._

_The sides of the cabinet slowly dripped with red. Mike tried again to pull away, but could do nothing but helplessly watch as the flickering image before him changed. The animatronic now took more prominence over the pixel art. Bonnie's face distorted. Sometimes, his eyes turned black with white pinpricks, and sometimes his head jolted like it did the previous night._

_Forced to watch, Mike noticed the color on the screen slowly faded with each flicker, draining away until it resembled the gray tones of an old horror movie. The pixel art no longer appeared, only the animatronic._

_He never realized the glass screen faded away, or that Bonnie slowly leaned closer, just beyond the screen's limit._

_Bonnie's eyes locked onto Mike's. The white pinpricks faded away, leaving only empty sockets. The face itself changed, sometimes showing the Bonnie he knew, and...Bonnie, but with something off. Parts of his plush face now contained tears and fraying. Loose wires poked from the old cloth. Part of one ear was missing at the bisect. The empty sockets kept him hypnotized, drawn to them as the flickering face came closer._

_Only now did Mike realize that two large, plush hands gently touched his cheeks. The trance the empty eyes kept him in broke as Bonnie now leaned halfway out of the video cabinet, his face, his hands, his posture all begging._

_Pleading._

_The animatronic flickered back and forth like a warped video image, shifting between the Bonnie that terrorized him every night, and the broken Bonnie. With the shattered illusion, traces of color came back, showing the broken Bonnie was not purple, like the one he knew…_

_...But gold._

* * *

His eyes shot open, a choked, startled scream burning his throat. Mike reached a hand up to the bruised area and tenderly stroked it to ease the pain. His eyes adjusted to the apartment. He picking out the paint strokes on his bedroom ceiling and felt stiff carpet fibers against his bare back. For a brief second, he swore he saw the flickering Bonnie. A few blinks washed away all traces of imagination.

For a long while, Mike lay there, letting his mind go blank for a moment. His heartbeat normalized as he listened to the stillness of his apartment. The dull drone of the heater nearly drowned out the smaller sounds. Faintly, he picked out a gentle humming sound just below him, electricity running to power his downstairs' neighbor's light. If he concentrated, he could pick out the slow ticks of the living room clock.

Despite attempts to push it back, Mike still felt the plush hands on his cheeks and the lingering pain in his fingers and palms from trying to rip his hands away from the video game cabinet.

Like he had physically been there.

He slowly pushed himself up. His back ached despite lying on the soft carpet. A glance to his watch read 7:27am. Just beyond his wrist, he noticed something brown and square sitting on the floor beside him.

The journal.

Flashes of swirling pages crossed his vision. Soft wisps kissed his face from the fluttering paper. The smell of ink filled his nose.

Mike scooped up the journal and shoved it back in the box, before he set Chica on top of it to hide it.

He knew better than to try to read it again.

The closet door slammed shut to hide the box again. Mike stared at it for a moment. He took another long breath and winced at the pain in his throat before he glanced over at his bed.

_Just get some rest,_ he told himself. _You're just still freaked out from what happened this morning_.

He stepped towards it and stopped. The bed no longer looked inviting, nor did he want to be in here. Mike moved a hand to his neck to again to soothe it. He swallowed hard, winced, and turned to leave. He hated the relief that washed through him as he stepped back into the living room.

Mike wandered into the kitchen and threw open the freezer door to get some ice cubes. The frozen shock made him notice the fatigue that still gripped him. He grabbed the ice and shut the door, before he quickly searched the cupboards for plastic bags and a hand towel for a makeshift ice pack.

His temporary relief acquired, Mike dragged himself to his couch and sank into it almost immediately. He grabbed the old throw that was spread haphazardly over the back of the couch and curled up under it. He shuddered as he draped the ice pack over his neck. The cold bit into the pain. Mike shifted to get comfortable, then laid there in silence. He closed his eyes again and willed himself to sleep. He _needed_ to sleep, if he was going to go back tonight.

No. He couldn't go back.

It was _suicide_.

The painful cold at his neck reminded him quite clearly, yet he had so many thoughts, so many nagging questions that refused to leave.

Mike felt for the remote on the coffee table. His fingers barely gripped it. His thumb fumbled for the power button. The morning news at a dull volume forced him to focus on it, to listen. To just...ignore everything else for a moment to try to lull himself into slumber.

But every time he started to drift off, thoughts of his nightmare forced him awake again.


	9. Decisions

**Wednesday, November 10, 1993**

Waylon thumbed over his mustache as he went over the budget in the tiny manager's office. He shifted in his seat, with hardly enough room to do that between the filing cabinet to the left, and the door. Important documents hung from the walls. The computer and printer dominated most of the desk. Just above the desk hung a picture of a smiling woman. It had been there since before he ever set foot in this building.

Behind the desk, a round wall clock ticked. Freddy stood in the middle while his hands pointed to the time. The minute hand pointed with his microphone. It was a cheap old thing they used to offer as a prize, now a relic almost as old as the restaurant itself. And it showed it was just after nine. The restaurant was open, but Waylon doubted they'd get much business until later, if they got any at all.

A few sharp knocks got his attention.

"What is it?" Waylon barked, not looking up from his numbers.

He recognized the young female voice as a waitress, Judy Larson.

"There's a guy here to see you," she said. "He's looking for a job."

Waylon was about to punch some numbers into his calculator when he froze. He quickly made some mental calculations. Schmidt had already threatened to quit, and last night marked his third night on the job. Judging from the pattern the last few weeks…

He frowned, then pushed himself out of his chair.

"I'll be right out."

Waylon shifted until he could open the door, then stepped out. He caught Judy's back as she headed for the dining room, her blonde hair pulled into a tight bun, and her hands reaching behind her to tighten her apron. Judy then turned at the prize counter to see to her other duties, allowing Waylon to enter the main area.

It only took a few seconds to survey the room and see the newcomer. Waylon stopped in his tracks when he did. The man was tall, a little over six feet, with broad shoulders jutting out from his otherwise narrow body. He had thinning blond hair, combed and slicked back, with sharp blue eyes that grabbed every detail in the room and committed them to memory. His face was handsome, but showed clear signs of middle-age. The man wore a simple blue suit and black tie, ready for an interview. He held a newspaper and what Waylon presumed were resumes under one arm.

"And who are you?" Waylon asked, a bit curtly.

"Greg Mortman," the man replied. He offered his hand. "Are you still looking for a night guard?"

Waylon took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

"The position's been filled," he said, "but tell you what, Mr. Mortman. Let me take your application and hold onto it in case something comes up."

"Sounds good," Greg said. "And to whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

"Waylon Kent," he replied, "head manager."

Greg nodded and offered him a resume. The manager snatched it from his hand and quickly skimmed through it. Name, contact information, experience, but the previous employers section caught his attention like a neon sign. Waylon frowned.

"...You used to work here?"

"Yes, sir, a long time ago," Greg replied. "I was a mechanic, mostly, but I sometimes filled in for other staff when we were short-handed."

Waylon glanced up from the resume.

"Including security?" he asked.

"Just once."

Waylon looked to him, taking him in a little more. Mr. Mortman appeared to be someone of a decent build, and his height alone granted a bit of intimidation, which he needed for a day guard. Someone who looked powerful and authoritative, but also friendly and approachable should the need arise. If anything, the man had a nice smile.

He then looked back to the resume.

"You left in '83," he said. "What happened?"

"One of the robots snapped," Greg replied, glancing over to the stage. "It was an accident, but some kid got his arm broken. The incident caused a _lot_ of traumatized kids and public backlash."

"So you were fired?" Waylon asked, getting right to it.

"Resigned, actually." Greg frowned as his eyes lined with Freddy's. "I couldn't get that one working again, and I figured I was probably gonna be blamed for it not working right to begin with."

He turned back to Waylon.

"Call it a PR move; the public thought the guy responsible was fired, the company was able to retain some scrap of dignity and keep the place open. They still had me come back after hours here and there, at least until they found someone else in '86. You can probably find a note about it in my old employee file."

Waylon frowned, but nodded.

"I heard about that," he said. "Shirley mentioned it when she first showed me the ropes."

"Shirley Reid?" Greg asked. "How is she?"

"Retired in '88, not long after the relaunch," Waylon replied. "Something about not being able to handle this place anymore."

He reached up to rub his temples.

"And in the last few years, I can see why."

"That's a shame," Greg said.

He took a look around the dining room, his eyes darting to the tables, the silver stars, the closed attraction at Pirate Cove.

"Doesn't look like too much has changed since I left," Greg said. "Can't say I miss the rainbow wall, though."

Waylon perked a bit.

"Rainbow wall?" he asked.

"Yeah," Greg said, pointing over to the area with the backstage door. "There used to be a rainbow mural right there. Guess they realized how garish it was."

"Guess so," Waylon said, shrugging. "I came on board as part of the reopen in '88. It's been an uphill battle ever since to keep this place open."

Greg nodded.

"Anyway, it's been a pleasure, Mr. Kent. I'll let you see to your duties, and hopefully await your call."

Waylon actually smiled.

"Here's hoping, Mr. Mortman."

* * *

The rest of the day came and went in a haze. Mike vaguely remembered leaving the couch at some point, trying to eat, having some smokes, changing channels, and switching out cassette tapes and movies in hopes of finding the one magic thing that would lull him to sleep and bring him out of his horror for a short while. He took nighttime pain medicine for his throat, then got a shower in hopes one or both would help. Now he lied in bed, his work clothes haphazardly strewn on the floor, new ice at his throat, and his comforter pulled tightly around him, unsure if he'd slept at all as he glanced at the clock on his bedside table.

11:31pm.

Mike went back to staring at the ceiling. His neck throbbed as his mind recalled his near miss that morning, the Puppet's strange behavior, the games behind the wall, his weird dream, and Phone Guy's warnings. All of them jumbled together in incoherent pieces as he tried to decide what to do.

Go back tonight? Quit? Take the dream as a sign to find out what they wanted? Forget the whole thing and never look back?

His head hurt from indecision, and the throbbing in his neck refused to go away. The last dose of medication long since worn off. Mike pushed himself from his bed to get some aspirin. Maybe after, he'd light up a smoke and try to clear his head. He reached over to turn on his lamp. Mike winced at the light as he made his way out of the room.

After acquiring the aspirin, Mike stopped by the coffee table to collect the cigarette pack.

He found it empty, with the last one a dead stub in the ashtray. Mike shrugged it off, knowing he had another one. He went back to his room and located his work shirt, searching the pocket for smokes.

He found it empty.

Only then did Mike realize he never put it back, that it was probably still sitting on the desk in his office.

"...Fuck me," he whispered.

Less for the cigarettes and the potential consequences if someone found them, and more for what _else_ he left behind. He grabbed his work slacks and patted the pockets for a familiar weight. Mike groaned. He knew he needed to go back to at least retrieve his wallet.

And the irreplaceable treasure it contained.

Mike sobered a bit as he smoothed down his work clothes, then pulled them on. He looked at his watch.

11:38pm.

If he hurried, he could still make it in time.

Hastily, he buttoned his shirt, adjusted the badge, and shoved his feet into his shoes as he stumbled to the kitchen. He found a bottle of ibuprofen and shook out four of the small pills. A few painful swallows to force them down, a few choked sips of water, a quick grab of a pack of Pop-Tarts just to have something in his stomach, and he was out the door.

Some of the hallway lights still flickered as he ran. Mike paid them no heed. At this time of night, only his muffled footsteps on the old carpet entered his ears. The exit stood before him, the light to its left burned out, the one to the right dancing on its last bit of filament.

Briefly, he remembered his dream, of that hallway that railroaded him forward.

Toward Freddy's.

Toward doom.

His body no longer felt like his own then, that like the dream, he had no choice but to keep going forward. The shadows danced on the walls. The constant spasms of light messed with his vision and clouded his mind. Mike swore he heard a child's giggle, saw something move in the corner of his eye.

He could stop if he wanted to, he told himself. Turn around, go back home, get the wallet in the morning when he handed in his resignation.

As he reached the door to the stairs, some part of him recognized the wallet was simply an excuse to keep going, a little lie he told himself to convince himself of his sanity. That he was going there to get something important, and _not_ because of the answers he sought, the strange dream he had, or his curiosity to see what remained hidden behind that wall.

Mike grabbed the doorknob and yanked it open.

And knew he crossed a point of no return.

* * *

At 11:53pm, the dining room floors of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza faintly glowed from the newly-finished mopping. They shone enough to see one's reflection despite the years-old scratches. The janitor wiped down the glass prize counter and occasionally shot a glance to the present box beside it. He looked up from his work as the door jingle played.

This close to midnight, he expected to leave the building empty for the night, and report to Waylon that they lost another one in the morning.

But Mike entered, his purple collar oddly turned up, his tie loose and barely clinging to his neck, his hat pulled down. Even from this side of the room, the old man saw the distinct graying purple color under the night guard's eyes, the five o'clock shadow, the tension in his posture, and caught the overall grimness in his demeanor. For once, the janitor's voice lacked its usual caustic tone when he greeted him.

"You look like hell, kid," he said, managing something that resembled concern. "Almost thought you wouldn't make it tonight."

"Fuck off."

Mike shoved a metallic wrapper into the nearest trash can as he headed for the bathrooms, far from in the mood for this shit tonight. All he wanted was to get done, then get to the office. A thought crossed his mind to just grab his wallet and run.

Run away, like a sane person, and put this place behind him.

When he finished up two minutes later, the last thing he expected was for the janitor to be waiting for him by the bathroom door when he left. With a grimace, Mike moved to pass him. The janitor stepped into his path. He slouched forward to minimize how much he towered over Mike. His voice held an air of understanding as he spoke again.

"Kid, I'm serious. You look like you clawed your way out of Hades."

Mike glowered at the other man.

"Like _you_ give a damn," he sneered. "I was supposed to be gone yesterday, remember? Third night and all."

He tried again to pass him, only for the janitor to once more get in his way. The elder man noticed the weak resistance in his younger coworker. That Mike _wanted_ to fight back, but it simply wasn't in him.

"Kid."

"Get out of my way," Mike snarled. "I've got a job to do."

He pushed past him, then reached up to rub his eyes as he walked. Fatigue from today's attempts to sleep still weighing him down. When he looked up again, Mike stared at the wall by the bathrooms, at the scribbled drawings that cluttered it. The stick figure Chica remained where he hastily tacked it that morning. One of the squashed purple circles forming her eyes seemed to wink at him, a small assurance that she kept his secret. Thoughts of his dream came back. His hands ached suddenly, the skin at his palms and fingertips about ready to fall off.

Mike felt a hand grab his arm. He winced as he turned to look at the janitor. The old man's face softened a bit, the aging lines less hardened and defined as he spoke with genuine concern.

"...You gonna to be okay tonight?"

For a brief second, Mike felt bad for snapping at him.

"I'll be-"

He noticed the janitor's brown eyes move down to his neck, where part of the bruise shone through the gap in his upturned collar. Mike froze, unable to finish his sentence. Any guilt quickly vanished when the other man gently asked the predictable question:

"What happened, kid?"

Flashes of that morning, of being dragged and how to hide it from Vanna came to mind. Mike unwittingly looked toward the stage, then pulled away from the janitor. This time, the man let him go.

"...None of your damn business," Mike said.

He turned his face from the other man's, then reached up to tighten his tie in a pitiful attempt to hide the horrible mark.

"Not like you'd believe me anyway."

The janitor let him go.

"...You be careful tonight, kid. Watch yourself."

"I will."

The janitor just gave a solemn nod and turned to leave. He got out his own keys to lock the building. Mike looked at his watch, just as the green numbers flipped from 11:58 to 11:59. No time to grab the wallet and run.

Resigned to his fate, Mike took a quick glance around the dining room. Pirate Cove and its sign remained still and untouched. The main stage curtains were open, and the terrible trio remained beloved children's characters for one more minute. Mike glowered at them, with special ire directed at Bonnie.

None of them moved.

He turned around to the prize counter, where the present box sat in its proper place beside the glass showcase. Mike approached it. He needed to go down that way to get to the office anyway.

"Whatever you're trying to show me," he said as he walked by, "I'll find it if I live through tonight."


	10. Fourth Night

_**Summer 1978**_

_The rest of the games were taken. Only a cabinet by the stage remained empty, an old fighter game. Mike frowned._

"_That one?" his friend asked. "It's two-player. We can both play!"_

_"...Sure," Mike said, a bit begrudgingly._

_He reached into his jeans pocket for some tokens._

"_No one really likes this one," he said._

_"Why?"_

_"...Dunno," Mike replied. "They just don't."_

_Mike stepped up to the right, the side closer to the stage. Both of them put in their tokens and hit their respective start buttons. After a taking a moment to choose characters, Mike found himself engrossed in punching, kicking, and button-mash combinations._

_A bit of movement caught his eye after a few rounds. Mike took a brief glimpse toward the stage. The end of the curtain was pulled back, showing a form. He barely turned back to the game in time to block his opponent. Mike glimpsed over his shoulder again, to find the curtain was back in place. He went back to the game, but not quickly enough to win the round. The game went to a cutscene, and Mike glimpsed at the stage once more._

_The form was there again, round ears and a top hat._

_Freddy, but..._different_._

_One hand held the curtain back. The other made a welcoming gesture. Something about the hands sent a sudden surge of dread coursing through his system. The game now forgotten, Mike grabbed his friend's sleeve._

"_Something's wrong," he whispered. "We have to go."_

_The joystick still moved, and the buttons still clicked._

"_Why?"_

_"We just do," Mike whispered, urgently. "_Please_. I can't explain it. I just feel like something bad'll happen if we don't go _now_."_

_The buttons stopped clicking. The joystick stilled. Mike felt a warm hand in his pulling him away._

"_All right. Let's go."_

_With a hesitant nod, Mike walked with his friend. He shot a final glance behind him. The bear ducked behind the curtain. A small glimmer of life shone in its empty sockets._

* * *

**Thursday, November 11, 1993**

Upon entering the office, Mike quickly searched the desk. He found neither his cigarettes nor his wallet where he left them last night.

Perfect. Just what he needed.

He'd have to ask Waylon about the wallet, and hope whoever turned it in kept or trashed the cigarettes.

Mike sank in his chair, then flipped the monitor on to check in on his robotic charges and ensure they all stood in their proper places for another minute. The phone rang as he shut it off again. As usual, Mike let it go to the answering machine.

"Hello, hello?"

Normally, Phone Guy sounded cheerful and upbeat in his greetings. A worried note in his voice set Mike on edge.

"Hey! Hey, wow, day four," Phone Guy said, a little exasperated. "I knew you could do it. Uh, hey, listen, I may not be around to send you a message tomorrow."

"...That's not very encouraging" Mike whispered.

A banging sound in the background caused Mike to jump, then look to the doors on either side of him. Both of them hung open, with nothing but lingering darkness leading into empty halls. A second later, he realized the noise came from the recording.

"It's-it's been a bad night here...for me. Um, I-I'm kinda glad that I recorded my messages for you-" the man cleared his throat, "-uh, when I did."

More banging, the implications of which slowly dawned on Mike.

"...Oh. _Shit_!"

"Uh, hey, do me a favor." Mike barely heard Phone Guy over the noise. "Maybe sometime, uh, you could check inside those suits i-in the back room? I'm gonna try to hold out until someone...checks. Maybe it won't be so bad."

Mike's blood ran cold at that. Almost against his will, he turned on the monitor and changed the view to Cam 5. The empty animatronic heads stared blankly into the room. The metal endoskeleton sat on the table, undisturbed. Normal sights, yet their usual creepiness intensified.

"Uh, I-I-I-I always wondered what was in all those empty heads back there," Phone Guy said.

Music played in the background: several music box chimes pleasantly overlapping in a self-sustained orchestra. Mike briefly recalled that tune playing during some of the shows. Where it once brought to mind excited children and cheerful songs, now it filled his heart with a specific dread.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no, no, no!"

Something groaned. Mike's blood ran cold with the recognition of the sound he heard only that morning. He briefly looked behind him, half-expecting Bonnie to be right there and waiting to pounce. Warm relief washed over him when he found nothing. A second later, Mike realized that like the banging, the noise came from the phone call. Which meant despite his efforts, Phone Guy wasn't alone in the room. His neck pulsed. Mike reached up to loosen his tie and soothe it, his breathing stilted with anticipation.

Phone Guy's only reaction to the breathing was a calm, quiet:

"Oh, no."

A loud, jarring racket blocked out every other sound. Mike fell out of his seat with a scream. The phone call cut out a second later, with only static on the other end of the line.

And then silence.

Mike remained on the floor, a hand at his throat, his other arm partially propping him up. His heart threatened to break through his ribcage. All around him, only the sound of the overhead light, the fan, and his own stilted breathing broke through the silence.

Thoughts of yesterday filled his mind, of the tight animatronic grip, of the sliding cold through his clothes, of that deathly smell, of all the tiny little whirs and clicks as Bonnie attempted to drag him to his doom.

He imagined going into that room, how Foxy started to follow, and Freddy laughed.

They would have held him still, he knew. Forced one of those empty suits over his body while the metal pieces dug into his skin. Left him to bleed out until someone found his corpse the next morning.

Mike glanced up to the glowing screen on the desk, at the tiny animal faces sitting on their usual shelves, the endoskeleton calmly sitting on the end of the table. The sight didn't frighten him like most of the others did, but rather...confirmed what he knew.

What nearly happened to him last night happened to Phone Guy. And one of those empty heads with their staring eyes had been his last window to this world.

Slowly, Mike pulled himself back into his seat, his back and legs still chilled from the cold tiles. He changed the camera view. He hands shook when he caught Foxy peeking out from the curtains. A flip to the stage showed all three band member still in position.

And looking _right at him_.

Mike's heart skipped a beat. Tonight's phone call still lingered on his mind, and most of all, Phone Guy's calm resignation of his fate.

_You're next_.

The thought lit up his mind as he changed back to Cam 1C, where Foxy stared up at him, his jaw hungrily hanging open, his yellow eyes burning up at the camera. Mike shut the monitor off to save power.

He then sat there in relative silence. His body trembled as the weight of the phone call hung over him. Blood drained from his face and hands, bringing on a cold that he feared would never leave him.

Slowly, each piece of the phone call slid into place. Only Foxy ever banged on the doors that he saw. And that groaning...had Bonnie been in the room already, and Phone Guy hadn't noticed? And what about the music? The Puppet? The specifics didn't matter, Mike realized. That loud jolting racket could have been Freddy or Chica for all he knew. The only thing he knew for certain was that more than one of them came at the same time for Phone Guy.

Which meant they planned their attack.

They herded their prey.

And they closed in on him and cornered him to get their chance.

Mike glanced to the doors on either side of him, his only shields to the monsters lurking outside. Were they planning to do the same to him? Wear him down until it was all over? He turned the monitor back on, to find that for once, Chica left first tonight. Foxy hadn't moved since he last checked, and after confirming Chica in the dining room, Mike shut off the monitor again. A haunting thought came to him as the screen faded to black.

The other guards all left before their third night. None of them would have heard tonight's recording. Who else knew about this? About the fate of the man on the phone?

...Was he the only one?

His breathing stilted. Mike choked back a sob. He hardly knew this man, having only ever heard his voice on the phone. He didn't even know what he looked like. But a part of him still mourned. These past few nights, Phone Guy was one of the few lights to this job. Someone who _knew_ what he was facing, who could empathize, and in a weird way, assured him that he could make it.

Slowly, it dawned on him that whatever happened now...Mike was on his own.

And he had to hope what little advice Phone Guy managed to give him would get him through tonight. Despite his cold fingers and the Pop-Tarts threatening to lurch up, Mike forced himself to turn the monitor back on, to find the animatronics who inevitably moved this time.

Only Freddy stood on the stage now. Foxy's eyes looking up at the camera were something of a cruel mercy in that he stayed put. A few flips showed Bonnie alone in the dining room, fixing the party hats again. Racket and clattering entered his ears, allowing Mike to shut off the monitor since he knew Chica now clamored around in the kitchen.

He tried to push his other thoughts to the back of his mind. The other guards didn't matter right now, neither did Phone Guy or anything else that wasn't essential to walking out the front door the next morning. Mike wrapped his arms around himself to try to get rid of the residual chill that came with everything he heard tonight, the macabre pieces his mind kept putting together.

Focus, he told himself.

Breathe.

And try to survive the night.

* * *

No matter how many times he tried to shove it back, the phone call lingered on his mind with every camera check, with every uncomfortable silence, with every small, out-of-place sound. His lack of sleep the previous day took a backseat to survival, and for once, Mike actually welcomed the weirdness he witnessed on the cameras. Every time one of them stared at him unexpectedly or disappeared, it gave him a small rush of adrenaline that he rationed as long as possible.

Mike took extra care with Foxy, like clockwork checking in on him every five minutes. Freddy remained onstage, though Bonnie and Chica seemed determined to keep him on his toes tonight. He rarely saw them in the dining room together, and whenever one came too close for comfort, the other one came by almost immediately after.

_Just stay calm_, Mike thought to himself. He shut the left door for the third time tonight to keep Bonnie out. _They _want _you off-guard. They're trying to close in_.

He really wished he had a cup of coffee to keep him awake. Or a cigarette to take some of the edge off.

_Don't let them in. Don't let them get to you. Don't let your guard down_.

Every now and then, he flipped to the bathroom camera. Sometimes, he caught Chica right there, pacing in the hallway, her beak clicking open and shut as she stared right up at him. Other times, Mike found the area empty, and in those moments, he wondered about the secrets hidden behind that wall.

Mike wearily turned on the light in the west hallway in time to catch Bonnie's retreating form in the window. As he opened the door again to save power, the lights flickered, then turned off. His heart jolted, and kept up a frantic jig even after the lights came back on a second later.

A sound rang behind him - a deep, gentle laugh, the sort that often reminded one of Santa Claus.

Mike quickly turned around in time to glimpse...a golden form.

His lungs stopped. No breath passed between his lips. Mike hardly registered the image when Freddy's laughter broke the spell, forcing his attention back to the camera. Able to breathe again, he changed his mind a split second later and turned back to get a better look at the golden thing in his office.

It disappeared in the flickering light.

Mike stared at the empty space. His right arm ached, his wrist and elbow now painfully stiff. The quick glimpse pieced together a costume of sorts, but not enough to pick out which character it was supposed to represent.

Only that it had soulless voids for eyes.

He reached up to rub his eyes and tried in vain to stifle a yawn. That damn dream simply amplified his fears to make him see and hear things, like the flickering golden Bonnie.

Whatever he thought he saw, Mike knew to push it from his mind and ignore it. The animatronics scared him enough on their own; he needn't make his own mind into another enemy. He turned back to the monitor, which flickered on its default view of the stage show, and quickly located Freddy's pinprick eyes in the dining room. After that, he started another round of check-ins.

Foxy: still in Pirate Cove, and threatening to step off that stage.

Bonnie: adjusting the party hats in the dining room to his liking.

Chica: no longer in the bathrooms, and the relative quiet meant not in the kitchen, either. Prioritize finding her before she can get too close.

He flipped a few views to try to find Chica. Mike pulled up Cam 4A to check the east hall. Aside from its emptiness, he immediately noticed something different.

On the right wall normally hung individual posters of Chica, Freddy, and Bonnie, advertising, "EATING TIME!", "FUN TIME!", and "PARTY TIME!" respectively. These, Mike rarely paid much attention to. Now each poster bore a round yellow face, with horrified white eyes buried in deep black sockets. Their mouths opened in tortured, eternal screams as thick blue tears gushed down their cheeks.

Mike winced and reflexively turned off the monitor. He blinked a few times, then turned it back on.

The posters returned to normal.

He stared at the monitor for a bit, then reached up to rub his eyes as he wished he got even a bit more sleep the day before. Everything tonight seemed bent on reminding him of his dream. About the crying children and small voices.

Mike perked, suddenly looking to each of the doors. Children disappeared here, or so the rumors said. And the Puppet was trying to show him _something_ in that hidden room...

He chose not to dwell on the implications. Mike quickly noted the time and power: 4:44am, and 31%.

After a quick check on Foxy, he continued his search for Chica. Mike found her in the dining room, in time for her to turn toward the hallway. Just as he changed the view, the power went out again. Mike quickly hit the power button on the monitor to no avail. He frantically pushed it a few more times as he willed it to turn back on. The fan started to slow, and he no longer heard the light buzzing above.

"No, no, no, no," he whispered. "I still had power!"

He quickly grabbed his flashlight, then went to the right door. Mike clicked it on and shone the bright beam down the hallway. The words, "LET'S EAT!" came into view, and then a bright beak and purple eyes.

She was getting closer.

Mike ducked back into the office with a plea to the electricity gods to turn the power to come back on. He pressed his back against the wall. His hand hovered near the door switch. A bit of playful laughter entered his mind, along with a sing-song voice.

_Ready or not, Mikey, here I come!_

"No," Mike whispered again. "That's not fair! I still had thirty percent!"

He heard her footsteps on tile, each step louder than the last. As if the room heard him, the light flickered back on, the desk fan started back up, and four monitor screens came back online with the camera system. Mike quickly hit the switch, just as Chica reached the door.

The metal slab slid down and clicked just as she attempted to poke an orange toe into the room. Silence lingered for a second, broken with a giggle.

_Maybe next time_, Chica said.

Mike ignored her and set a hand over his chest. His heart pounded so hard, he almost directly held it in his hand. He looked over at the other door and realized he wasn't safe just yet. Mike lifted the flashlight and shone it into the open left door. He eased only when he saw nothing there. Mike then ran across the room and dared to check the hallway, and the corner just behind him.

His heart settled a little when he saw no sign of Bonnie. It jolted again when he glanced down the hall and saw the curtains at Pirate Cove move.

Mike clicked off the flashlight and quickly ran to the desk to switch the monitor view from the empty stage show to Pirate Cove. Sure enough, Foxy poked his head out and grinned up at the camera.

Forget him. Find Bonnie.

Mike went to the back room first, and for the third time in the last five minutes, his heartbeat kicked up. Normally, the masks stared ahead, but towards the far wall and away from the camera. Those that sat on the side wall were now turned in his direction. Any that still had their plastic eyes distinctly looked up at him. More than that, the endoskeleton, which normally leaned forward, now sat completely at attention, its brown eyes focused. One hand reached for him.

He quickly changed the view to the dining room, where he saw Bonnie getting back into his usual routine. Chica came into view a few seconds later. Mike glanced over to the right, and noticed the door still shut. He quickly opened it, and checked the power.

16%.

Mike grimaced and made a quick roll call. Chica and Bonnie passed each other in the dining room. In the back, he noticed Freddy's eyes shining in the dark. Foxy threatened to step off his stage. He checked the back room again, and found everything still staring at him. Mike shuddered, hating that view.

How did they...?

He let it click. Bonnie was always moving things around, whether it was chairs or masks or party hats. He glowered as he flipped back to the dining room.

"You're a bigger bastard than I thought," he muttered.

Something skittered above him. Mike glanced up, his breath catching. Nothing came into view: just the dark ceiling where the single office light couldn't break through the shadows. Freddy's laugh forced him to look away, a warning that the old bear moved again.

As Mike looked at the monitor to locate the pinprick eyes in the dark, one of the ceiling tiles quietly shifted above him. A small object fell from the gap, smacking against the tile as it landed on the floor.

The night guard jumped in his seat. He quickly turned around to make sure nothing had gotten in. Mike saw nothing at first. A glance to the floor showed a stark rectangular shape on one of the white tiles. He needed only to see the worn surface, the familiar cracks and creases in the dark brown color, and the one missing corner to recognize it:

His wallet.

Mike hastily reached down and scooped it off the floor, then went back to check in.

Freddy's eyes shone from inside the girls' bathroom, with Chica further down that hall and barely in sight of the camera. Foxy now paced just outside the Cove, ready to charge if the security guard wasn't diligent and careful. Bonnie started his part of the dining room dance, though now his eyes remained on the camera as he walked, even if it meant his head turned all the way around as his body kept marching.

Mike shut off the monitor to rid himself of Bonnie's _Exorcist_ impression. His shaking fingers then pulled the wallet open.

He found his driver's license in its proper clear sleeve, two credit cards occupying two of the five slots, and four wrinkled dollar bills in the pouch. When he didn't see what _else_ should have been there, he quickly flipped through the bills, then meticulously pulled them out, one by one. Oddly enough, Mike found a new item stuffed between them: a round bronze key. Mike curiously held it up. No inscription, but its make was newer. He set it aside and continued his search until the pouch was empty. Panic set in a little more when he realized the wallet no longer held his two most precious items.

Forced to ignore it for a moment, Mike went back to the monitor to check in. He tried to direct his focus on locating each animatronic. He bit his quivering lip, blinked back a few tears. It shouldn't matter this much, he knew. They were only pictures. Mike reached up to wipe his eyes and fought back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. After everything else tonight, he felt like this might finally break him.

Last night, having Vanna's smiling face gave him encouragement and hope. Tonight, when he needed it most, he wouldn't even have that. He would die all alone, unable to even pretend someone had been with him. He would join Phone Guy and disappear, just like...

With a deep breath, Mike turned a stern gaze to the cameras. He let the last stray tears fall. None of that mattered, he reminded himself. He got this far on just wit and determination. At any cost, he would survive until morning.

Another breath to assure himself, a forced thought of Vanna's smiling face. Of her laughter, her style, of how everything about her brightened the room.

Mike shoved the bills back into his wallet. He looked over the key again before he slipped it into his pocket. He then went back to the cameras and flipped to the back room to look for Bonnie. Nothing there but the empty heads. His neck throbbed. Mike gently reached up to soothe it, his fingers chilled against his hot flesh.

Try not to think about it. Push it back until you leave this office in the morning. No use wondering which mask Phone Guy wore, which suit sealed his fate. Do what you can to avoid it yourself.

He faintly heard a metallic scraping sound, and quickly shut the left door. A flip to Cam 2A confirmed his suspicions as Foxy darted down the hallway, yellow eyes wide open and crazed, hook flailing, his metal feet pounding into the floor. The banging against the door a few seconds later reminded him of the phone call. Mike turned around to the right door and flicked the flashlight into the empty hallway.

Nothing.

He went back to the monitor and changed the views to Cam 4A and 4B to ensure the east hall was clear. Only then did Mike approach the right door, dare to peer out into the hall with the flashlight, and check both sides to ensure clearance.

A figure on the dining room end of the hall appeared in the bright beam, then darted away, but Mike recognized the chocolate brown color. He briefly remembered that Freddy liked the dark, and wondered if the flashlight chased him away. Probably best not to gamble unless all other options were gone. He most likely just caught the animatronic off-guard.

The security guard ducked back into the office and did a check of the west hall to ensure Foxy went back to Pirate Cove and that Bonnie hadn't come back around in the meantime. Once in the clear, he opened the door.

Focus.

Breathe.

You headed him off once tonight; you can keep him from running again.

Mike did another roll call, then sank back in his seat. His eyes wandered up to the ceiling, where he heard the skittering earlier. The dim office bulb only lit up the area directly around it, keeping the ceiling tiles encased in shadow. His eyes went back to his wallet on the desk. Mike grabbed it and put it back in his pocket. He then glanced back up at the spot right above where he found it.

They took the photos. Rather, _the Puppet_ took the photos, then dropped the wallet for him to find. It had to have been the Puppet; none of the others were light or thin enough to travel through the crawlspace above. It _wanted _him to know they were missing, that no one else could have taken them.

And then it left him the key.

"It's a machine," he whispered. "Why would it…?"

Mike suddenly remembered the musical chimes that morning that came from behind the wall beside the bathrooms. Puppet directed him there from the bathroom camera the night before, too.

Was that how it disappeared when the camera went black? It crawled into the ceiling tiles?

He pulled up the monitor to check for the others as he processed his thoughts. The Puppet led him to that hidden room to begin with. And now it stole his pictures. But the key…

Mike mulled over it as he flipped back to the dining room, to a rare instance tonight of Bonnie and Chica weaving between the tables. He ignored them as he paid more attention to the tablecloths and wondered if the Puppet came out of its box tonight.

"...What are you up to?" Mike whispered. "Why are you doing this?"

Silence.

With no other choice, Mike checked in on Freddy and Foxy. Pirate Cove showed closed curtains, and so far, no sign of Freddy in the dining area or bathrooms. He cycled through the whole restaurant, looking at the shadows for the pinpricks. On the second time around, he found him.

Freddy positioned himself carefully in the east hall, just beyond the emergency light there. Its brightness provided camouflage almost as well as the shadows. Mike picked out Freddy's outline, flecks of brown plush, his eyes lazily staring ahead through the light. The metal endoskeleton pieces under his robotic ears glistened until they nearly blinded him, causing Mike to wince when he noticed them.

A glance to the right door, then back to the monitor. Mike's right hand twitched, ready to hit the door switch if he got any closer. Freddy's deep laugh sounded then, mocking him. He saw it on the camera, Freddy's bottom jaw going down, then up with each boisterous chortle.

Footsteps from the other hallway got his attention, and fearing Foxy, Mike kicked his chair over to the left door and shut it quickly. A second later, he realized the footsteps had padding, not the distinct clanking Foxy made when he decided to charge. Regardless, he didn't trust any of them, and hit the light switch.

The flickering hall lights came on, though he caught a dark silhouette up against the window frame, one with large ears on top of its head. Mike narrowed his eyes. He ignored the sudden throbbing at his neck.

"Not tonight, you bunny bastard bitch," he muttered.

Another of Freddy's deep laughs sounded from the other side. Mike turned around and dove to hit the other switch. His entire body pressed against the wall. The door came down too slowly for his comfort. Freddy's mocking laugh just after it closed spoke enough of his minor victory. Mike glowered, then slid to the floor, back against the wall to catch his breath.

Trapped, he realized. Trapped with his power levels dwindling. He glanced up at the monitor, not sure if he _wanted_ to see how far the power dropped since he last checked.

The night's phone call came to mind again as he pulled himself back onto his feet. Mike checked the right door light. He saw no shadow, but suspected Freddy still stood behind it. He slowly pulled himself over to the other side of the room. A quick flick of the door light revealed a long-eared shadow in the little window.

Neither seemed keen on leaving anytime soon.

Mike sank back in his seat and pulled up the camera. Freddy's arm barely showed in the east hall corner. Foxy peeked from behind his curtain. Chica paced around the bathrooms. Mike shut off the monitor and checked his watch.

5:34am.

_You're running out of time_.

The thought filled his head as Mike pulled up the monitor to check the power gauge for the first time in he didn't know how long. Throughout the night, he took brief glimpses at both his power levels and his watch, but now he felt his heart sink as he realized just how little of each he had left.

3%.

He glanced between the two doors, where an animatronic stood waiting behind either one. The longer they remained shut, the faster the power drained. Mike watched the power level slowly dwindle until it hit 0%. He had seconds at best.

Only one thing to do now.

He grabbed his flashlight and gently held it in his lap. After that, he held completely still. It was a gamble, but going limp might buy him a little more time. And if there was ever a time to test his theory with the flashlight…

The lights went out. A gentle hum echoed throughout the entire building. The magnetic locks clicked open, and he heard the metal doors slide up into their chambers. Mike winced, but remained in his seat. Only a faint bit of light revealed the fan, the boxy shapes of the old monitors stacked one on top of the other, and some trash on his desk.

Should he run for it? Stay put? Try to hide?

Every muscle froze as his heartbeat picked up. He watched the doors in the corner of his eyes, as they better adjusted to the dark. From all around him, he heard shifting and moving, but no footsteps.

_Come on, you bastards,_ Mike thought. _Quit fucking around and come get me_.

Silence.

He started to pick out the band poster, some of the children's drawings, and the cupcake toy. In the dark, they seemed to shift and distort. A few quick blinks cleared that problem away.

Then he heard it.

Faint and careful, and much lighter than it should have been, but he knew the sound of padded feet on tile, particularly at the left door. Mike tensed, imagined Bonnie coming his way. The footsteps stopped just outside the room. He heard the chimes first, then saw a flickering light. With the strictest control, he turned his head until he saw what looked like a face in the dark.

Blue eyes, flickering in time to the music box chimes. Only thoughts of survival kept him from jumping at the sight. The blinking lights disoriented him a bit, but Mike picked out a nose, eyes, white teeth. At first, he thought of Bonnie, but the rabbit had _red_ eyes, not blue.

It suddenly snapped into place.

"_Freddy_," Mike whispered.

He caught the flecks of brown now, the round edges of his ears. The music box song kept playing, and Mike's blood chilled. He heard it on tonight's recording...and knew which one of them did Phone Guy in.

_Did you come for me too?_ he thought.

The music box kept playing, light, cheerful, triumphant. Freddy simply stood there as the song slowed to an end, but continued into another round. Mike tensed with each note and waited. Waited for the song to cut out like he heard on the phone call. For Freddy to tire of it and come for him.

He swallowed carefully, more than aware of the open door to the right. For all he knew, another one lurked outside, just waiting for the right signal to pounce.

That they had him trapped.

Cornered.

Destined to join the man on the phone.

The song stopped, and with it, the light that flickered on Freddy's face. Mike blinked a few times to reset his night vision and listened. He only heard the beating of his own heart. Nothing shifted, no servos hissed, no footsteps came closer.

The silence terrified him enough that a soft knock made him jump. Mike glanced to the right where it originated. Something moved then, and he looked to the left to try to catch it. His skin pricked with the knowledge that he wasn't alone in the room.

"Just come for me," he whispered.

Even if he tried to run, he'd never make it. If Freddy didn't get him now, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy were all waiting and ready to intercept him.

A strong stench suddenly filled his nose. Mike recognized it from when Bonnie dragged him out of the room last night. Something then gripped his right shoulder. Mike pulled away. Thinking quickly, he turned on the flashlight and shoved the bright beam up into his attacker's face.

Freddy froze for a moment, his face now fully lit up. His nose was only inches from Mike's, his bright blue eyes oddly friendly, his mechanical ears twitching softly. For a long while, the animatronic stood in place, bent forward to better be level with the night guard. His large hand clasped Mike's shoulder only tightly enough to keep him from getting up or pulling away.

Freddy dropped the microphone he still carried in the other hand. The hard resin accessory clattered to the floor and rolled away from the chair. Freddy then ripped the flashlight from Mike's hand. He just as quickly found the button to turn it off and encased them both in darkness. A soft clicking sound matched the words that entered his mind.

_That won't work anymore_.

Mike recognized the deep baritone. He tried to pull away then, but Freddy's grip tightened as an order to stay there. Only because the large machine made no other attempt to drag him away did Mike comply.

Two bright disks broke through the shadows, the centers showing black circles surrounded by blue rings. Mike sucked in a breath, not only to avoid that horrible pungence, but to remain as still as he could while Freddy looked him over and decided his fate. The black eyelids slid down a little, giving the eyes a softer expression. Mike let out a small, helpless laugh.

"...If you're going to kill me," he whispered, "then do it."

_No, Michael_, came the answer.

Freddy let go of him, and from watching the glowing eyes increase in height, Mike knew he stood straight again. The plastic eyes remained on him, watching his every move.

_You came for answers_. _Use this remaining time wisely_.

The disappeared as Freddy turned away. Mike heard the soft, padded footsteps leaving the room. He checked his watch to see how close he got to death. The glowing green digits now read 5:45am.


	11. Breakdown

**Thursday, November 11, 1993**

5:45am.

With fifteen minutes to six, Freddy left him alone. Mike let out a long breath. He put his arms around himself to try to keep from shaking, and to bite back any other fearful reactions. That strange deathly smell still lingered around him, and only through the sheerest willpower did he prevent his stomach from turning. The flashlight sat in his lap, where he hadn't registered until now that Freddy dropped it before leaving him alone.

_You came for answers_. _Use this remaining time wisely_.

Mike hesitantly looked to the doors on either side of him. He turned on the flashlight to examine the room. The resin microphone had been retrieved, and everything else seemed normal. Or at least, as normal as things got. Carefully, Mike approached the right door, each step calculated and quiet. A glance down the hall showed it empty, and in the bright flashlight beam, he caught the ends of some of the tables.

As he turned around, his eyes went to the desk. The monitors, trash, and stupid toy cupcake all sat where they had been before. Only one thing stood out among them:

His cigarettes.

Mike quickly grabbed the pack and shoved it into his breast pocket. He didn't care how they got there, only that he had them again. He then went to the left door and checked down the hall. Even from here, he barely glimpsed the closed curtains at Pirate Cove, saw two more of the tables, and heard no footsteps.

Were they...going to let him pass?

He briefly recalled yesterday morning, where Bonnie, Freddy, and Chica literally pointed him towards the bathrooms where the music played behind that wall. Tonight, Freddy let him go with moments to spare. He had to trust they would leave him alone. That he had time to investigate before Waylon or anyone else got in.

The thought brought his hand to his pocket, where Mike searched for the key Puppet left him. He made a quick check around the office for any kind of lock, and only found the desk, chair, monitors, and walls around him.

Nothing here, so where…?

The first locked thing that came to mind was the manager's office. After making a quick, careful check down the west hallway to ensure Foxy wasn't lurking or threatening to run, Mike slid into the east hall, and headed down for the only place in the entire building he hadn't been yet. As he approached the door, he shot a glance into the dining room.

Everything looked ready for the next day. The first glimmers of dark blue morning light broke through the front windows. It allowed him to pick out the tables with their perfect party hats, the closed curtains at Pirate Cove, and three figures onstage. Their silhouettes showed them poised and ready to entertain what few children might come today. Mike ran the flashlight over the room. The animatronics stayed in place, all of them with that lazy expression that came with their daytime programming, though he knew they were still active in night mode for a little longer. Freddy once more held his microphone.

Mike then turned to his the left, where the prize counter and the Puppet's box sat. They remained just as still as everything else in the room. He stepped back towards the manager's office, not daring to turn his back on them. He shifted his stance to unlock the door while still surveying the dining room in the corner of his eye.

As he hoped, the key fit and turned with ease. Mike's breath hitched a bit as the door gave way.

The office was tiny and cramped, with a desk shoved to the right and a filing cabinet in the back. The desk chair took up most of the floor space, with just enough leverage for someone get into the office and sit comfortably, but not do much else. Mike heard the tick of a clock to his left, and saw the edges of paper on the walls. He ran his flashlight over the room. The ticking sound came from an old Freddy clock. An old printer and an even older computer hoarded most of the desk space, and the papers, at a quick glance, were things like employee schedules and charts for things he didn't understand or care about.

Mike shot a glance behind him to verify the animatronics stayed put, then stepped into the room. He shut the door behind him, but left it open a few inches so he could listen for them. The tiny room smelled of ink, paper, and the remnants of what he presumed to be Waylon's awful cologne.

He shifted around the desk chair, then pushed it behind him. If anything, nothing could get in here without moving it, and that granted him a small shred of security. Mike checked his watch and noted he had twelve minutes before 6am. He then started at the top of the filing cabinet and worked his way down.

Top drawer: copies of legal forms, blank employee contracts, and other necessities. Second drawer: budget reports and other boring paperwork. Third drawer: employee records.

Mike's heart beat faster as he quickly thumbed through them. The dividers marked the files by year, with the folders between the dividers organized alphabetically. He ignored the ones up front and checked to see if they went as far back as...yes.

Six years ago. Further, even, but he paid that little heed, save for the fact that the further back he went, the more dust seemed to settle. Mike blew some of it away to better cover his tracks. While the state of the files showed Waylon never looked beyond the recent years, it was best to be as discreet as possible.

He thumbed through the files until he found one that caught his interest. Mike quickly pulled it out and opened it. He shone the flashlight on the papers inside, greeted with the basics first: name, address, job title, salary, all neatly typed up and stapled to a copy of a driver's license. Mike quickly turned to the next page to a copy of the employee contract and the original application. His heart panged as he looked over the familiar handwriting on the form, and the signature at the bottom of the contract. He bit his lip, forcing back emotion as he pushed them aside to the papers after it.

At the dismissal form, a note of failure to arrive for the 9am shift marked at 7:35am, and the signature of one Shirley Reid.

Mike's hands shook as he glared at the paper.

"You _fucking liar_," he hissed.

After taking a moment to commit it to memory, Mike put the file back, then rifled through the rest, looking for Reid, Shirley. He found nothing under 1987, 1988, or anything up to the current year. Frustrated, he found himself going back further.

He found Shirley's file shoved in the back. He discovered it more easily than expected due it being less dusty than the others this far back. After carefully slipping it from its place, Mike quickly peeked at her file. It showed she had been the head manager at both this establishment, and the one that shut down in 1987...and that she resigned on April 14, 1988, only a few months after the incident.

"Wonder why," Mike muttered. "Felt some guilt there, Shirley?"

He glanced at his watch.

5:54am.

Only six minutes left, not that he needed them. Mike started to slide Shirley's file back where he found it, when one of the folders behind it caught his eye. While the rest of the folders showed a last name, then a first, this one simply said, "Fredbear."

_Fredbear?_ he wondered. _Is that Freddy's old name?_

Mike blew away some of the dust, then carefully slid the folder out. Upon opening it, he found a deed for a place called, "Fredbear's Family Diner," some legal documents, and a contract dated 1972 negotiating Fredbear, LLC, to become Fazbear Entertainment. As he looked over the contract, something slid out of the folder. Mike quickly grabbed for it, and found himself holding a folded piece of paper much thinner than the contract and legal documents. It crumpled easily in his grasp.

Newsprint.

He set the folder down and held up his finding. The newsprint had been carefully folded to keep it from being seen on an initial glance inside the folder. Mike gently worked out the creases, and found a piece of yellowed note paper underneath. Someone scrawled a phone number along with a reminder to, "Call Booker Teddy Co."

Mike set the note back in the folder and looked at the article he held in his hand.

**WRECKED CAR FOUND IN CITY OUTSKIRTS; DRIVER BELIEVED TO BE MISSING.**

It was dated June 15, 1966. As Mike started the article, which was more of a footnote than anything, he noticed he held not one, but _two_ clipped articles. The second one was much larger, and its headline read:

**WIDOW OPENS RESTAURANT TO HONOR MISSING HUSBAND.**

Forgoing the first article for a moment, Mike decided to start with the second one. The front page showed a black and white photo of a smiling woman with long, dark hair held back with a headband. She held a portrait up beside her, and stood in front of what he recognized as the main doors to the building, with a banner hanging over the entrance and enough lettering in the picture to pick out, "GRAND OPENING". Even in the grayscale, Mike could tell she had a tint to her skin. The portrait she held was of a smiling black man with a bald head, bushy beard, and a soft, cheerful look in his eyes.

_March 10, 1967_

_After Frederick "Freddy" Wickes mysteriously disappeared last year, his widow, Bonnie Wickes, held firm to their dream, and opened Fredbear's Family Diner-_

His vision blurred before he could read another word. Mike gasped, suddenly struggling to breathe. His head swam for a moment as his vision darkened. The paper crinkled in his tightening hands.

Then a breath forced itself from his lungs. Mike choked out a cough. He lifted his arm to cover his mouth and caught a glimpse of the time as he did.

5:57am.

Mike cleared his throat, then dropped the articles back into the folder. He had just enough time to put the folder back, shove the drawer closed, rearrange the desk chair, and make his way out of the room. Mike quickly locked the office, before he stared down into the dining room.

Everything looked just as it did before, save for Bonnie, Freddy, and Chica all with their eyes facing to right. Mike knew what they wanted.

He still hadn't seen what else was buried behind the wall.

Mike set the office key on the prize counter, knowing there was nothing else in the office he needed, before he made his way across the room.

A heaviness filled his chest as he approached the stage. Mike forced himself to keep breathing. The flashlight shook as he walked by Chica. He heard a faint whirring sound and imagined her head turning toward him, her purple eyes keeping him in sight until he walked out of her vision. He kept the bright beam facing forward, not daring to confirm his suspicion.

Mike approached the wall by the bathrooms and ignored the spot he dug out before. He moved closer to the right this time, knowing that if he were to find anything, here would be best to look, to see into the other side of the room. His heart jolted a bit. That deathly smell that Freddy and Bonnie both carried on them still hung under his nose, and here, it seemed to increase. He tried not to think of the rumors and pushed back any residual fears of what he might find. They spared him for this. He needed to know what they wanted.

Like before, he felt for a weakness in the wall, doing everything in silence. Mike had no music to lure him this time, no Puppet to guide him.

He found a soft spot behind a Foxy drawing, the paper older and brittler than the others. It spoke enough of how long ago the pirate's attraction closed. Mike carefully pulled the drawing aside, then reached for his keys. That same feeling that came over him last night, of being in the back of his mind while something else puppeted his body, came back.

It wasn't his own hand lifting the key to the plaster and shoving the metal teeth as far in as they would go. It wasn't his own wrist that twisted and dug. It wasn't his other hand holding the flashlight, nor his own eyes observing every movement, every plaster chip breaking away.

Mike watched in a haze as the plaster continued to break. Everything else faded to the back of his mind, showing only the gray and white speckled wall, the small darkening tunnel appearing in it, the occasional glint of metal as the key sawed back and forth.

BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP.

He jumped at the sound and cut down further than he meant. Mike choked on his heart as his mind snapped back to reality. His shaking, startled hands dropped both the flashlight and his keys. Cursing under his breath, Mike shut off his watch and reached down to pick them up.

He dusted off the key, then held up the flashlight to examine the hole he started to dig. In comparison to the other hole, Mike hardly got halfway through this one. A long scar in the plaster marked where his hand slipped and clawed through when his watch brought him back to the real world. It resembled a crying eye peering back at him, the crack in the wall a jagged tear tapering off into a point.

Not long after he got back to it, the welcoming jingle suddenly played. He clicked off the flashlight and held the keys tightly to keep them from jingling. The sudden darkness of the restaurant played to his advantage as he slipped into the small alcove leading into the boys' bathroom.

Maybe Waylon wanted to ensure he left on time for once. Mike glanced to his watch.

6:03am.

To his legitimate surprise, he heard _not_ the manager's disgruntled tone, but a familiar, "Kid?"

He carefully peered around the partition, not quite able to see the front door, or even the hostess stand, but sure enough, the janitor walked into the dining room. The old man made a beeline down the east hall to the security office.

"Kid?" he called again. "Kid, you here?"

Mike glanced into the dining room, then back at the wall that blocked off the hidden room. Thinking quickly, he slipped back over, grabbed the old Foxy drawing, and put it over the hole he started to carve. Maybe tonight, he could get in early and _finally_ find what they wanted to show him.

"Kid!" the janitor cried. "Where are you?"

The old man's voice went from concern to panic. Mike heard his footsteps coming down the west hall, back toward the dining room. He glanced behind him to make sure the Foxy drawing stayed in place, then turned back to the sea of tables and chairs. Taking a shaky breath, Mike stumbled into the dining room, making a point to stay as far from the stage as he could.

"Why the _fuck_ do you-do _you_ care?"

The janitor flinched with shock, then turned around to face Mike.

"Give me a heart attack, will you, kid?"

Mike ignored him.

"Why the hell are you here?"

The janitor glared at him, his face and tone stern.

"I knew you weren't okay last night," he said. "And somethin' you said got to me."

He made a small gesture to Mike's collar. The night guard quickly brought a hand up to his neck to hide any hint of the bruise right there. The janitor's gaze softened a bit as he spoke again.

"That bit about not bein' believed."

He gestured to the nearest table to offer a seat to Mike. Mike watched him for a moment, but nodded. The other man silently pulled out a chair for him and allowed the night guard to collect his thoughts.

Mike stared at the chair, uncertain if he wanted to take the invitation. After pondering it, he gave a faint, shaky nod to the janitor as he took the seat. He closed his eyes and tried to still his trembling body. Many questions came to mind, thoughts of last night that he pushed back for a moment. His gaze focused on the tablecloth as he finally found the courage to say something.

"...What happened to the other guards?" Mike whispered.

"Kid, I told you. I don't-"

"_Don't _lie to me!" Mike snapped, turning to look the old man right in the eye. "Just...just _don't_."

His neck throbbed with the increase in volume. Mike gently ran his shaking fingers over the bruise to soothe it. His chair rattled against the floor, the metal legs clacking against the tile. The janitor winced, but quickly regained his own composure.

"Kid…"

"I know about what...what happened," Mike continued. His voice threatened to break. "To o-one of them, at least."

He looked up, but no longer saw the janitor's face. Only the image of that back room, the empty heads all staring right at the camera.

At _him_.

"The guy on the phone d-died," Mike whispered. Control slipped with every word. "He _died_! And i-i-if this is some sort of s-s-sick joke, then t-tell me-"

The floodgates of his survival mode finally burst open. The horrific thoughts he tried to keep back cascaded into his mind and his body, forcing him to process everything he'd tried to push back.

Phone Guy's death. The hallucinations. His lost items mysteriously returning. The encounters with Freddy and Bonnie. The files he uncovered. Every moment of terror that built up in those four nights, every near-miss of demise, every death grip on the tiniest fragments of hope.

"-Because it isn't f-fucking _funny_ anym-m-more!"

Mike kept his hand at his throat. He covered his mouth with the other and forced himself to breathe, unsure if he wanted to scream or cry or vomit. Mike closed his eyes and shook his head as the first few tears broke through.

Focus.

Concentrate.

_Breathe_.

Two strong hands gripped his shoulders. Mike let out a weak, pathetic cry and pulled away as his mind went to the robotic creatures on the stage. His eyes shot open. The janitor's concerned face blurred into view. His strong hands kept their grip. Mike calmed down only when he felt the warmth and bloodflow of another human being.

"Kid," the janitor said, quietly. "I believe you."

Mike reached up to wipe his face, then shifted out of the other man's grip. This time, the janitor let him go. The old man crossed his arms and set them on the table. He watched the night guard carefully. Concern shifted to contemplation as he thought of what to say.

For a long while, the only sounds were shaking metal against tile and stifled sobs.

"...I wasn't entirely truthful with you the other night," the janitor said after a moment. "I don't blame you for not believin' me. I mean, I come in day in, day out, and watch other guards turn tail'n run. That's enough to make anyone with a good noggin on their shoulders suspicious."

Mike simply gave a weak nod. He shook less now he composed himself again. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve while the other man continued.

"And you're right that I know some things. Not much, but some things. Didn't bother to tell you before because I didn't think you'd stick around. But you came back last night, and you're still here now."

The janitor paused with a glance toward the stage.

"I know the guards on the night shift get weird phone calls," he continued. "They ask about 'em, and I don't know anything more'n what they tell me. I've got the gist of 'em, though. Some guy calls in about the rumors and the '87 incident. Next thing you know, folks are spooked and won't come back."

Mike winced at the mention of '87. If the janitor noticed, he made no indication.

"He died," Mike whispered again. He quickly gestured to the stage, at the silent, unmoving animatronics. "I heard them. Th-the noises they make. They...surrounded him. A-and then the call-"

The janitor nodded and held up a hand to show that he didn't need to say anymore.

"I told you I believe you, kid." He cleared his throat. "I always knew somethin' happens here at night. And I knew that those critters over there-" he flicked a thumb toward Freddy, "-had something to do with it. Truth be told, I'm not too keen on findin' out for myself."

A glance back to Mike, a shift in his chair to better face him. The night guard ignored him for a moment to look at the stage as well. Bonnie, Freddy, and Chica all looked innocuous as usual, their lazy gazes unthreatening. The brighter morning light from the front windows banished some of the shadows away and glinted off the numerous silver stars hanging around them.

_Only toys_, Mike thought, though he no longer believed it.

He stared at them another moment, looking for any small changes in their faces, their hands.

Nothing.

"And five'll get me ten that one of 'em got to you," came the old man's voice.

Mike winced, but turned back to the janitor. He slowly nodde to confirm. For the first time, he realized the old man wasn't in his usual work jumper, but an old plaid shirt and jeans that had seen better days, a newer gray jacket to keep out the November chill. Something about them made the janitor appear older than usual, brought out more of the gray in his salt-and-pepper hair and beard, and the wrinkles forming in his aging face. Even his voice seemed raspier.

No matter their previous interactions, this man came to check in on him when he didn't have to and even answered questions he once refused. Mike chose to return the favor.

"...Bonnie," he whispered.

A strange look crossed the janitor's face.

"What?"

Mike slowly pointed his trembling hand to the large purple rabbit onstage. The janitor followed his fingers. Whatever the old man thought before faded away as he nodded to confirm.

"Bonnie," Mike whispered again. "That's how..."

He took a quick, shuddering breath. His fingers still massaged the bruise at his throat.

"He got into my-my office," Mike explained. "Grabbed my collar. Dragged me o-out of the...room."

"Kid…"

Mike ignored him. He turned his chair around to point out a spot on the floor near Pirate Cove.

"I passed out there around...6am. I heard my watch, but I don't…"

He paused a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

"...I woke up alive."

The janitor nodded, then looked him over. For a long while, neither man spoke. The stars ahead turned, a stray glimmer occasionally hitting the table. More sunlight shone through the front windows, bouncing off the checkerboard tiles and glass prize counter, brightening the room a little more. Only two sets of breath broke the silence, one calm and pondering, the other stifled and broken.

"...I just have one question for you, kid," the janitor said at last.

Mike had since gone back to staring at the tablecloth. He mentally measured the position of the party hats to give his mind something else to think about, that Bonnie's odd habit could only be described as perfect. He perked a little, then looked back at the janitor. The older man's face hardened again, and his usual caustic tone returned.

"After everything you just told me," the janitor said, "why in the _blazes _do you _keep coming back_?"

The roughness in the man's voice actually made Mike smile for a brief second. He even choked out a laugh. This was familiar to him, more normal. More importantly, the man was right. Mike let out another helpless little laugh at the obvious absurdity of the question, and the even more absurd answer to it. He took a long breath to clear his thoughts. Mike's gaze wandered to the stage, then toward the bathrooms. He held still for a moment, unwilling to share that secret just yet.

"...I don't know," Mike finally answered.

He reached up to wipe his eyes again, a lot calmer now. His body still shook and his mind still haunted him with thoughts of last night, but most of the tension left him, leaving him to slowly pick up the pieces. Mike's fingers shifted from brushing away stray tears to rubbing his temples to soothe a sudden headache.

"I almost quit after my second...night," he confessed. "Waylon talked me into staying. After that…"

Mike looked up again, not at the janitor, but across the room to the front door.

Towards temporary freedom.

"...I can...I can s-say that Waylon convinced me," Mike quietly continued, "that I forgot my-my wallet. But the truth is...they're excuses."

He wrapped his arms around himself again to stave off the sudden chill that ran through him. Mike looked back to the stage, to the animatronic band. The janitor followed his gaze.

"...I don't _want_ to be here," Mike whispered, his eyes meeting Freddy's. "I-I _tried_ to quit. I really did."

The bear didn't move. His soft blue eyes still stared out at the miniscule audience, but Mike remembered the deep baritone of his voice again, the gentle words of mercy.

_You came here for answers_.

He shuddered and lowered his gaze, taking a sudden interest in an old streak on one of the tiles.

"...You were right," Mike whispered.

He heard the janitor shift in his seat.

"'Bout what, kid?"

"That I'm looking for something," he answered, "and I...fuck, I couldn't even tell you _what_ I'm looking for. Just that there's...there's something here, and what-whatever it is, it keeps...drawing me back."

Mike took another breath, then turned to face his coworker.

"I don't come back because I-because I _want_ to," he whispered. "I come back because I _have_ to."

A warm hand gently grasped his shoulder. The janitor repositioned himself before Mike, his demeanor almost grandfatherly now. This time, Mike didn't pull away from him.

"Kid," the janitor said quietly, "I'm telling you right now...you sound like you've gone off your nut, and I can't even pretend to understand it."

Mike gave him a resigned nod. Even _he_ agreed it sounded crazy.

"But I can tell you this: I've watched _many_ night guards come and go. Usually fresh-faced kids right out of high-school and lookin' for easy work. Occasionally get an older gent tryin' to do somethin' with his life, and then there's the folks who get spooked their first night because of the rumors and never come back."

The janitor smirked a bit. He let go of Mike's shoulder and settled back in his seat. The old man hooked an arm over the chair's back and rested his other elbow on the table. He gave Mike a quick once-over, from the hat that hid his eyes, to the badge at his chest, to his black shoes pigeon-toed on the floor.

"Your first night, I figured you'd be gone like the others," the janitor said. "Then you're back, not so much scared as pissed off, but I've seen it before. Kind of a toss-up as to whether or not I'd see you again, but another night passes. I expected you to turn tail, but here you come _again_, still with a bit of fight in you."

The man mustered something resembling a smile. Mike lacked the desire to even try to return it. He just sat quietly, hands now in his lap and shifting over each other to give them something to do.

"Men older'n bigger than you have quit by now," the janitor continued. "But look at you, kid. Four nights, and I'm hard-pressed to think of the last time that's happened. Whatever your reason, kid, you've got some brass stones."

Mike snerked a bit.

"Not so much stones as insanity."

"Maybe," the janitor agreed. "And maybe that's what it's gonna take. I saw something in you, kid. You've got this...this _spark_ that the others lacked. Like you're _determined_ to do this, come hell or high water."

His face softened a little more. Mike's gaze dropped and his hands stilled.

"Like I said," the old man continued, "can't even pretend to understand it, but I admire your commitment to it. And I'll bet dollars to donuts that you'll be back again tonight."

"Not like I have a date," Mike muttered.

The janitor chuckled at that.

"Whatever it is you're looking for, kid, I hope you find it."

He stood up, then offered a hand to Mike. Mike hesitated a moment, then took it. He the other man help him to his feet. They put the chairs back into position, the room once more ready for today's activities. The door jingle played, and both Mike and the janitor looked over. Waylon Kent entered, looking sour as usual. His eyes immediately went to the two men still standing in the room.

"Schmidt!" he exclaimed, narrowing in on the night guard first. "We talked about this! You're supposed to be out the door as soon as your shift ends!"

Before Mike could get a word out, the janitor stepped in.

"Give the kid a break. He's had a long night."

Waylon's gaze went to him then.

"And what are _you_ still doing here?"

"Finishin' up," the janitor said simply. "Had a little bit left undone before midnight. Figured I'd get to it real quick before you got in so none of your staff had to."

Waylon calmed down a little.

"Fine," he said. "But I've already told Mr. Schmidt-"

Mike again tried to protest. Once more, the janitor beat him to it.

"He was just leaving," he continued. "He's also the first night guard in months who's stayed longer'n three nights. The job's a lot more stressful than it sounds; he just needed a bit to recharge his batteries before heading home."

A glance to Mike.

"Ain't that right, kid?"

Mike stared at him, aghast that the janitor got Waylon to shut up for a minute. Waylon shrunk back at the older man's words, but quickly composed himself to glower at Mike. Mike took the hint.

"Y-yeah," he said, agreeing with the janitor. "I was...just leaving."

The janitor said gave him a soft clap on the back.

"Get some rest, kid. You look like you need it."

Mike gave him a grim nod, then searched his pocket for his keys. He shot a glance to Waylon, able to pull up his usual composure for a moment.

"I'll be back tonight," he said firmly.

"Fine," Waylon grumbled. "Be on time."

"He always is," the janitor confirmed.

"By the way," Mike said, "I found a key while making my checks last night. It's on the prize counter in case anyone calls."

The cutesy jingle played as Mike headed out the door. The janitor watched him go, then turned to Waylon.

"Gonna head out myself," he said. "I did what I came to do."

Waylon nodded.

"Good."

"And I meant what I said," the janitor told him. "That kid's the best guard you've gotten in a long while. Don't be so hard on 'im."

Waylon went quiet for a moment, then nodded.

"...I know," he admitted. "No one ever stays very long on the night shift. It'd be nice if Schmidt can save me the headache of having to hire again."

He cleared his throat and with it, pulled up his authority.

"The cooks are going to be in soon. I'm going to get some work done."

"I'll leave you to it," the janitor said.

Waylon brushed himself off, then headed for the manager's office. He stopped by the prize counter to pick up the key. The janitor started to leave when the sound of rustling paper caught his attention. He turned in time to see the old Foxy drawing fall, and the hole it tried to hide.

He turned back toward the manager's office. Waylon was going through his keys to unlock the door, and hadn't noticed the paper. The janitor bent down, pretending to fix his shoelace while watching Waylon in the corner of his eye. The manager looked at his key ring, then at the single key held in his hand. He tried it, and the confused, angry look said enough of his bafflement at how it came loose.

Once he saw Waylon head into the office, the janitor stepped on the little welcome mat in front of the door solely to make the jingle play.

He heard the office door shut and smirked a bit. Confident Waylon assumed he left, he carefully headed down the hall toward the bathrooms.

The kid kept looking over there while they talked, and come to think of it, the night guard came from that direction when he first approached him.

The janitor walked over to the wall by the bathrooms. It only took a few seconds to find the hole. The edges were too clean for this to be simple weak plaster, and the scratches around it showed evidence that a tool of some sort had been used. That the old Foxy sketch tried to hide it spoke enough that someone tried to find something.

Had the kid done that...?

The night guard _did_ say he was looking for something. And come to think of it, this wall wasn't always here.

The janitor reached into his pocket for a small Swiss army knife. After selecting the small saw tool, he got to work, easily cutting through the weakened plaster. In a moment, he pushed through to the other side, the wall now sporting a neat hole about two inches in diameter. He pulled a penlight from the end of his keychain and peered inside. The edge of an old video game cabinet - a Chica game, judging by the side art - appeared in the beam, and as he moved it to the right...something else sat against the wall on the other side of the room.

The janitor shifted a bit and moved the pen light to better see it. When he picked out the new object, a soft, sad smile formed over his lips.

"...Hello, old friend," he said, quietly. "It's been...quite a few years, hasn't it?"

The janitor shut off the penlight, then bent down to grab the Foxy sketch. He carefully tacked it back in place, to ensure it would stay where it was during the day. The janitor then headed back to the main room, not caring if Waylon heard a second welcome jingle.

"You'll get your answers tonight, kid," he said, quietly. "I'll make sure of it."


	12. Old Friend

**Thursday, November 11, 1993**

Mike hardly registered anything as he forced his way up the stairs to quickly get to his apartment. He heard doors open and close, echoes in the stairwell, and footsteps going in and out as people on other floors started their days.

He hastened his pace, his gaze downturned.

Be as invisible as you can be.

Mike reached the fourth floor. He was about to enter the hallway when he heard someone say his name.

"Mike?"

_Shit_.

"Hey, Vanna," he managed, pulling the door open as an excuse to not look at her. He ignored the aching in his throat and kept his body strategically turned away from her. "Aren't you getting in a bit late?"

"I was off today, silly," Vanna said, "just like I was yesterday. I go back in tonight after midnight."

She caught up to him and gave him a playful slug.

"Don't worry. Night shift makes you lose track of time. Even I forget what day it is sometimes."

Mike nodded and peered over his shoulder to give her a quick smile. Only then did he briefly notice her green robe and the letters in her hand. He turned back to step into the flickering hallway before she could get a decent look at him. For a second, Mike saw the gray walls, drawings, and floor tiles. He quickly blinked them away as he headed for his apartment. Vanna followed. She caught up to walk beside him.

"You feeling alright, Mike?" she asked. "You don't look or sound too good."

He actually managed a smile. Her presence seemed to keep the horror back for a moment. Mike shifted slightly closer as he walked with her.

"I'm fine," he said, taking a sudden interest in sorting through his keys.

"If you say so," Vanna replied. "Work hasn't been too bad?"

Mike ignored her for a moment as he tried to figure out how to answer that.

"...Just weird dreams," he said at last. "Probably because of staring at the screen too long."

A glance up to her, another forced up smile.

"I just need to sleep."

Vanna nodded. She returned the smile and readjusted her purse over her shoulder.

"If you say s-"

When she looked back at him, her eyes widened a bit, pinpointed down at his collar. Mike already felt his blood run cold, the gears turning in his head for an explanation.

"Holy _shit_," Vanna said. "What happened to your neck?"

"A-accident," he said, going with the first thing that came to mind. "I, uh...tripped."

Vanna stared at him, unsure if she believed him. Mike reached a hand up to try to soothe some of the pain. Upon noticing her look of concern, he quickly continued.

"Hit the edge of a table."

Vanna reached over and gently tilted his head to get a better look. A small hiss slid through her teeth.

"Ouch," she said. "Damn, Mike. Were you _trying_ to take your head off, or are you just spectacular at hurting yourself?"

"Go big or go home," Mike answered.

Vanna tried to hold back a laugh, snorting a bit as she let him go.

"Well, looks like you're doing both."

Her smile dropped for a moment.

"Are you _sure_ you're okay? That doesn't look like something you just sleep off. I have some cream that might-"

"Vanna," Mike said, firmly. "I'm fine. It looks worse than it feels."

Vanna frowned, still unsure, but nodded.

"Well, keep me posted," she said softly. "Let me know if we're still on for tomorrow."

Mike quirked a brow.

"Tomorrow…?"

"Donuts, silly," Vanna reminded him. "Celebration of your first paycheck?"

Mike barely kept himself from facepalming. Of course, their planned breakfast. With everything else on his mind, he'd completely forgotten about it.

"Right, right," he said, trying not to think of tonight and what horrors it could bring. Or even if he'd survive long enough. "Sorry, I'm just-"

"Sore, exhausted," Vanna said softly. "It's okay, I get it."

She gently pulled him into a hug. Mike barely registered enough to return it.

"Get some rest, okay?" Vanna told him. "And if we need to postpone breakfast, let me know."

Mike smiled as she pulled away. He gave her a faint nod.

"Thanks, Vanna."

"And I mean it, Mike," she said, a bit more firmly as she walked to her own front door. "If something's going on, don't be afraid to tell me."

Mike just nodded. He watched her until she disappeared into her apartment. Only then did he go home himself, ready to just end tonight and start a new day.

* * *

Freddy Fazbear's Pizza boasted an unusual amount of life earlier today, especially given the place's reputation and rumors of shutting down by the end of the year. The struggling pizzeria actually had a small party booked and two or three stray families came, which meant plenty of pizza, games, excited children, and not-so-excited parents and staff trying to reign in the chaos.

Gwen Carlisle finished getting the last family out. She checked stamped hands to ensure each child left with the right adult. As the saying went here, safety was the number one concern at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, and given the place's history, policy was to be followed to the letter.

As the last guest exited the restaurant, Gwen reached up to loosen her ponytail that contained her micro-braids, mostly to relieve her throbbing head. While things quieted down considerably in the last hour, the day's sounds of the old arcade machines, laughing children, and yelling adults nearly drowning out the show took their toll. All she wanted now was to go home, take some aspirin, and pass out.

When she brought her hands down again, she caught the tips of her coffee-colored fingers glowing under the blacklight, a side-effect of adjusting the stamp all night. With a sigh, Gwen turned to catch a quick glance of what her coworkers were up to.

Franklin Graham, one of the waiters, cleared the tables of paper plates and other debris. The other waitress, Judy Larson, headed back to the kitchen with a tray of soda pitchers. Waylon Kent had since gone into his office to do the books. Only three other members of the staff weren't in sight: the two cooks in the kitchen, and Andrew Bell, the day shift security guard.

Gwen made sure the front door was locked, then headed down the hall for the supply closet to get a broom. The janitor would be in soon, but Waylon always insisted they clear off the tables and do a sweep first. Make sure the old man could just mop up, dust, and get out before midnight.

She perked at the sound of footsteps and turned to see Andrew approaching. The man was tall and built like a linebacker, but his soft brown skin and warm face immediately made him less intimidating.

"Long day," he said. "I just got everything shut down. Need any help?"

"Nah," Gwen replied. "Just need to do a sweep."

Andrew nodded and walked with her back to the dining room.

"What a day, huh?" Franklin cheerfully asked as they got back in. He reached to brush some of his red hair out of his freckled face. "It was pretty busy for us."

"Looked like it," Andrew replied. "But nothing you guys needed me for."

"I can hardly believe people still even come here," Gwen muttered. "Or that it's still open."

"We still have a month or so," Franklin replied, taking his tray of paper plates to the nearest trash can.

He shot her a smile.

"Besides, it's for the kids."

Gwen rolled her eyes and started to sweep up cake crumbs and hardened bits of frosting. Still, she couldn't help but smile. Franklin's bright, upbeat personality often lifted her mood and brought some much-needed life to the restaurant.

"Well, you didn't get to see this place in its prime, newbie," she said, "before everything went downhill."

Andrew shrugged and walked toward the bathrooms to relieve himself before heading out.

"Guess not," Franklin said. "I only moved here two years ago."

"You missed out," Gwen teased.

She swept her crumb pile into the dustpan, then traded places with Franklin as he got the last few cups off the table.

"It used to have more games, better food, and the animals actually interacted with the kids."

"Really?" Franklin asked. "Like how?"

"They talked to them," Gwen answered, knowingly. "Like, actually held real conversations, and could repeat names. It made them feel more real. My cousins and I loved it."

A frown.

"Now they're just creepy."

Franklin glanced to the stage, where the Fazbear band had long since shut down for the night. He tilted his head as he imagined what Gwen just told him.

"Maybe that's why they stopped," Franklin said.

"Not really," Andrew called from the bathroom hall. "It's just what cutbacks and years of scandals does to a place."

The boys' bathroom door opened and shut, leaving the two younger employees alone for a moment.

"He's right," Gwen said. She dumped the crumbs with a shrug, then glanced over at Franklin. "Like I said, I used to come here a lot as a kid. We didn't come very often after the first incident."

"First incident?" Franklin asked.

"My cousin, Kamili, disappeared," Gwen explained. "She and her folks were visiting. My house is only a few blocks away from here, so Kamili thought she could dip off for a while and come back without anyone noticing. She left her mom a note explaining she was going to see Freddy. The staff claimed they hadn't seen her come in, but they did their damnedest to look for her."

She frowned.

"I was only four when it happened, so I don't really remember much."

"So why are you working here?" Franklin asked. "If your cousin disappeared here, I mean?"

"Mostly because not many other places were hiring, and this one's close by," Gwen said. "And because there hasn't been an incident in years."

She went for another pile of cake crumbs.

"Sooner or later, you let things go and accept that things change. What happened to Kamili was sad, and I do kind of want to know what happened, but there also wasn't any proof she actually got here. I stopped letting it bother me a long time ago. Besides, after Christmas, this place is done for good, and then it's all gonna be behind me anyway."

Franklin nodded.

"Good attitude to have," he said.

The door jingle played. Gwen and Franklin both looked over in time to see the janitor walk in and tuck his keys into his jumper pocket.

"Getting in a little early?" Gwen teased.

"Or you're workin' late," he replied.

The janitor smirked as he headed for the storage closet.

"But really, I did some shoppin' earlier," he continued. "Saw a lot of cars in the parking lot. Figured I'd get a head start."

"Well, you're right," Franklin said.

He swept his dust pile toward Gwen, where she could get it with her dustpan. Judy peeked out from the kitchen, her blonde bun falling out of place.

"We just finished up," she said. "Need any help?"

"Don't worry about it," Gwen replied. "We're almost done."

"Okay. We're gonna head out and lock the kitchen, then. See you guys tomorrow!"

"Night, Judy!" Franklin called.

"Night!"

Judy disappeared back into the kitchen, and even from here, Franklin heard the old exit door open and shut a moment later. The janitor returned shortly with a mop and yellow wheeled bucket.

"Gonna start by the bathrooms," he said. "You kids finish up here."

"Awesome!" Franklin replied, giving the older man a small salute. "Will do!"

The janitor nodded and went to the bathroom hallway. He got out his mop and started to work. He shot a glance to the rest of the crew to note their positions. Gwen was out of sight, cleaning up around Pirate Cove. Franklin moved down the tables toward the prize counter. The janitor waited until he moved to the next row, just out of sight. He listened to the sound of two brooms on tile, the occasional dump of the dustpan, the casual small talk to make the task go faster.

Good. No one would see for certain what he was about to do.

And he'd need their help once all was said and done.

The janitor looked back at the wall, at the Foxy drawing hiding the hole he finished that morning. He aimed the mop right under it and slammed the long pole into the plaster. He hoisted his body forward so his shoulder smashed into the wall. The plaster gave as he hoped it would, several pieces crashing to the floor on the other side. Already, the janitor heard Gwen and Franklin's concerned voices, their footsteps running to investigate. The janitor steadied himself back on his feet and dusted off his jumper. It stung, but the pain was already fading.

"What the hell?"

Franklin entered the bathroom hall, Gwen not far behind him. The boys' bathroom door opened as he got there, with Andrew Bell dashing out, his brown hands still dripping wet. The dayshift guard got to the janitor first. His dark eyes widened in horror.

"Are you alright, old man?" he asked. "What happened?"

"M'fine, Bell," the janitor muttered. "Just slipped."

Franklin and Gwen rushed up behind him, their brooms forgotten on the dining room floor. Andrew stepped closer to the janitor, who held up a hand to keep him back.

"I'm fine," he said again. "Y'ask me, I hurt the wall more'n it hurt me."

"Are you sure?" Gwen asked.

The janitor gave her a warm smile.

"Sure as sunrise," he replied.

Gwen nodded, then turned to Franklin.

"What'd I tell you? This place is falling apart."

Andrew examined the hole in the plaster, at the edges and how the material cracked. Even the wall didn't look very thick; only just sturdy enough to do its job. He gently pressed at the wall around it and carefully tested it for further weaknesses.

"This is such shoddy workmanship," Andrew said with annoyance. "Looks like whoever built this wall was in a ru-"

The plaster under his hand gave way. Andrew tumbled into the wall like a drunken football player. His heavy weight crashed into the plaster, taking out a good chunk of the wall as he collapsed to the floor, a few more large plaster pieces falling onto him from the ceiling.

"Andrew!"

Gwen ran over to him, grabbing for the plaster chunks to pull off of him. Franklin and the janitor followed suit, taking the bigger pieces off the day shift guard.

"Are you okay?" Franklin asked.

"Can you move?" the janitor added as he pulled a huge chunk of plaster away. "How's your head?"

Andrew groaned as he tried to shift under the plaster. The janitor and Franklin moved enough pieces to tell he was still breathing. Another small groan told them he was still conscious. Franklin perked as he suddenly realized there was no draft from outside.

That the tile floor lead beyond the broken wall.

"Whoa! I didn't know there was another room back here!"

Franklin stepped closer, then wrinkled his nose.

"Ugh, and it kind of smells."

He tried to get a better look, only for the janitor to draw him back to the task at hand.

"Not now, kid. Help me get 'im up."

Franklin nodded and did as the janitor said. He got on Andrew's other side and helped the janitor hoist him up. Gwen stepped away from them to give them space, then ran into the dining room to get a chair for Andrew. She hardly reached the nearest table when Waylon came storming into the dining room. The manager's purple face pulsed, his pencil-thin mustache ready to jump off of his snarling lip.

"What the _hell_ did you do?" Waylon screamed as he marched up to the wall.

Franklin helped the janitor keep Andrew on his feet. They ignored the manager for the moment.

"It was an accident!" Gwen cried.

Waylon either hadn't noticed Andrew, or didn't care. As soon as she set the chair down, Gwen ran to the back room to get the first-aid kit.

"Do you know how much this is going to cost to fix?" Waylon ranted. He waved a hand at the large hole in the building. "We don't have the money! We barely got enough to get through next month!"

"Calm down," the janitor said as he helped Franklin direct Andrew into the chair. "It was an accident."

"The hell it was!"

"But it _was_!" Franklin protested.

"I don't ca-" Waylon started.

The janitor interrupted him.

"An employee was _hurt_, Waylon," he snarled. "That comes first."

Like before, Waylon stuttered for something to say, then seemed to think better of it. He guiltily looked over at Andrew. The day shift guard for the most part seemed to be all right, but he saw a bit of bruising on one of his hands, part of his face and neck, and he imagined there were a few more under the uniform. Andrew still hadn't said a word; he just breathed with slow, painful breaths.

"...Is he okay?" Waylon asked, quietly.

"M'fine," Andrew managed after a moment. "Just...hurts."

Waylon nodded, then turned to his other employees.

"What happened?"

The janitor put a hand on Andrew's shoulder. Gwen soon returned with the first aid kit, and began to examine Andrew for anything that needed immediate attention.

"Slipped with the mop an' crashed into the wall," the janitor explained. "Wasn't hurt, but Bell came to check in on me. The whole wall came down while he was examinin' the remains of it."

"Yeah," Gwen added. "It's not his fault. The damn wall wasn't sturdy!"

"You're lucky this happened now," the janitor continued, "and not when the youngins' were out and about."

Waylon's face paled a bit, and he nodded in agreement. Better an employee after hours than a customer during the day. This establishment would _never_ survive another lawsuit like that. Gwen helped Andrew unbutton his shirt to check on his back and sides. Only a few small cuts, but the way he winced when she touched part of his ribs said enough.

"You should probably see a doctor," Gwen said, quietly.

Waylon nodded in agreement.

"Bell, you're dismissed for the time being," he said, calmer now. "Get that looked at, and get better. I'll…"

A small sigh, and then a mutter.

"...Fill out an incident report."

Andrew nodded.

"Can you walk?" Waylon asked.

"I think so."

"Good."

He offered a hand to Andrew to help him stand. Andrew took it and shakily got back on his feet. Waylon then turned to his others employees.

"Graham, Carlisle, go home. We've got it from here."

"Better do as he says," the janitor said softly. "Finish up and go."

Franklin and Gwen both nodded, then followed Waylon and Andrew back into the dining room. Gwen watched as the two men left the establishment. Only the welcome jingle broke the sudden quiet.

"...I hope he'll be okay," she said.

"Bell's a tough one," the janitor replied, watching the front windows.

He waited for Waylon's car to pull out of the lot.

"He'll probably be back when we open again."

"Yeah," Franklin agreed.

Gwen went quiet again, then glanced down the bathroom hall, at the damaged plaster and into the darkness beyond it where the black and white tiles faded into the shadows. In all the commotion, the hidden room had been forgotten.

"...What's back there?" she asked.

"Good question," Franklin replied.

The janitor pulled out his penlight.

"I was waitin' for Waylon to leave," he said quietly, "so we could find out."

Gwen and Franklin both looked at the penlight, and nodded. The three of them made their way to the hallway, the janitor leading the way.

The penlight lit up the back wall first, of old posters and newspaper clippings and printed corporate notes. The trio stepped in, and Franklin noticed the weird smell wasn't as strong anymore. To the left, a few old video game cabinets lined the wall. Some miscellaneous long-forgotten personal items littered the floor, and as the janitor shone the penlight toward the far corner…

"Oh my god," Gwen whispered. "That's creepier than the others."

"You're telling me," Franklin agreed.

An animatronic lay slumped against the wall, where it looked like it had been thrown inside and forgotten. A quick glance showed it was probably a Bonnie prototype, with the right ear snapped off at the bisect, the left intact, but fraying. It was a dull yellow color, and its suit bore several tears, especially around the eyes and mouth. The tears gave the thing an empty-eyed look with a creepy grin. The face with its lack of eyes and exposed plastic teeth almost resembled a skeleton. Strangely enough, it had five fingers instead of four like the others, and its exposed feet had a different shape as well, looking almost like it had slots for toes.

"Interesting," the janitor said.

He carefully approached the animatronic and ran the penlight over its body to examine it.

"Doesn't look like anythin's wrong with it. Just old and frayed."

He turned to Gwen and handed her the penlight.

"Hold this. And you," he said, turning to Franklin, "help me move it."

"Wait, what?" Franklin asked.

"You heard me."

"What are we going to do with it?"

"We're gonna bring it to that spare parts room. Make things a little easier for the repair guys tomorrow."

The janitor shifted to lift the animatronic under its arms, grunting a bit, but he managed to grip it.

"C'mon, kid, I ain't got all night."

Franklin nodded and grabbed its ankles, surprised that the thing was lighter than it looked. Gwen held the light for them and guided both men out of the hole with their twisted prize. She noticed the other half of the animatronic's ear on the floor and picked it up, then stepped back into the hallway with her coworkers. In the brighter light, the thing looked even creepier, with every tear more clear. The places with the exposed metal endoskeleton resembled bones poking out from a decaying body. If any good came from it, the room behind them had been completely sealed. The metal wasn't as rusted as expected, and some parts looked even a bit salvageable.

"I think I preferred it in the dark," Gwen said as she flicked off the penlight.

She ran ahead then, wedged the back room door open, and got the light. Franklin and the janitor got as far as the stage before they had to set the animatronic down and catch their breath.

"It's kind of cool," Franklin said, bending down to lift it again. "I wonder if it still works."

"Even if it did, what's it good for?" Gwen asked. "Not like this place has much longer to go."

"It's probably scrap or spare parts," the janitor said simply.

He glanced to the stage.

"They're probably gonna need 'em."

As they entered the room, both men looked for a place to put it. They decided to set the new animatronic down in order to move the spare endoskeleton to the corner under the camera in that room, and the extra Bonnie head back on the shelf. They then lifted the animatronic up onto the table, where it laid like a patient waiting for surgery.

Gwen set the ear down beside it, then looked over it again.

"...Someone didn't want this thing found," she said quietly.

"Well, we found it," the janitor said, "and there's not much more either of you can do tonight. Go home and get some rest."

"Yeah," Franklin agreed. "But there was a secret room here and no one knew? Cool!"

Gwen quietly followed him. She pondered on their discovery.

"...You know," she said as they made their way to the front door, "when I think about it, I'm pretty sure I remember those old games."

"I wouldn't know," Franklin said with a shrug. "Never had a childhood here, remember?"

He got the door for her. The jingle rang as they left the building. Once the door shut and locked them outside, the janitor walked to the backstage room. The old broken robot still laid in its spot, as lifeless as the empty heads around it. The old man stepped forward.

"Thought they dismantled you years ago," he said.

The janitor stopped at the edge of the table. He picked up one of its arms and twisted its wrist to test its movement. The joints creaked, and some rust buildup caused it to stall, but despite its age, the old animatronic still retained much of its articulation. The janitor pulled his work rag out of his coveralls. He walked around the table, occasionally stopping to test a joint or wipe away a layer of dust. He gave it a small, sad smile as he worked.

"But it's good to see you, old friend. Not sure what you've got to do with th' kid, though. Pretty sure you came well before 'is time."

Parts of the suit looked brighter now, but removing the dust failed to revive the original golden color. He gave a small nod to his handiwork.

"Got a bit of work to do before the night shift gets in," he said. "I'm sure if you have somethin' to do with the kid, he'll know."

The janitor headed back into the dining room to gather up the brooms Gwen and Franklin left on the floor. Afterwards, he had plaster to pick up and haul away.

* * *

Mike awoke to the sound of a phone ringing. He jolted up, then looked around the room. He saw the white ceiling first, then his TV set, the old wall clock with its dying battery, and some bright, colorful art that he tacked up solely to make the living room feel less dreary. To his left, he saw the shelf full of books and VHS tapes, then his beat-up coffee table in front of him.

Home, he realized.

Not in the office where he waited to hear a dead man's voice.

The phone rang again, drawing his attention to the small table in the furthest corner of the room. The old handpiece rattled in its cradle. It settled down for only a few seconds before the ringing shook it up again. Mike reached up to rub his eyes. He barely caught a glimpse of his watch.

1:23pm.

When had he fallen asleep? He probably blacked out as soon as he got inside. A fourth ring pulled Mike out of his thoughts. Who would be calling him? He rarely got calls. Mike's eyes glimpsed the newspaper on the coffee table as he stepped toward the phone. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he picked up his pace.

Maybe one of the other jobs he tried for checked out!

His shaking hand grazed the phone as it rang a fifth time. On the second try, he managed to grab the handpiece, and pulled it up to his ear.

Nothing.

Mike cursed under his breath as he set the phone back in the cradle, then glanced to the small answering machine beside it. He turned it on, hoping to at least catch what the person was saying.

"-lo, Michael," came an older woman's voice. She bore a once-strong Irish accent that since weakened over time. "It's Moira. I haven't…"

A long sigh came through the machine. Mike's heart sank, though he considered it a small mercy that he hadn't answered in time. With how this past week had gone and his already having to lie to Vanna, he wasn't sure if he keep up the charade with his foster mother too.

"...I haven't heard from you in a little while," Moira continued, "and I just wanted to check in. Make sure you were okay. I know that this time of the year is a bit difficult for you, Michael. I think about you a lot. I worry. How can I not?"

His hand hovered over the stop button, tempted to shut it off. Guilt made him pull it away. Mike owed it to her to at least listen.

"As each year passes, you grow more and more distant," Moira's voice gently prattled on. "I understand why. After what happened...I know you're just trying to protect yourself. I _know_ that. But it terrifies me, Michael. I don't...I don't want to lose you too."

She paused a moment, and he heard a sniffling sound, then a soft scratching that told him she just wiped her nose. Mike loosened his tie, then pulled off his badge with trembling hands. He stared at the smiling bear on it, the glimmers from the living room light.

"Please call me back," Moira begged. "You know you can always talk to me. I'll always listen. You know I will."

He turned the badge in his hands, then closed his eyes.

Try not to think of it.

"I want you to be alright, Michael. To _heal_. I pray every night that you'll find peace. That you'll...stop avoiding things that remind you of-"

The badge suddenly clattered down on the table, drowning out the last word.

That _name_.

Mike reached up to wipe his eyes. He clutched the edge of the table with his other hand.

Don't think about it. Force it back.

"I hope you'll stop running," Moira's voice continued. "That when you finally do, you'll be able to face it head on. I love you, Michael. Have since you first came to us. I hope you'll call back, but if you don't, then at least know you are loved, and you aren't alone. I love you, Ronan loves you, and so did-"

Mike slammed the answering machine off, not wanting to hear anymore. His arm throbbed again, as did his neck. Whatever rest he managed to get suddenly drained as he fell to one knee. Mike kept a tight grip on the table lest he collapse entirely. He took a few moments to compose himself, then pulled himself back on his feet.

The badge glittered innocently; Freddy's face smiled up at the ceiling. Mike snatched it up again, then glared at the golden bear.

"What do you _want_?" he screamed. "Why are you doing this?"

Beyond the bear, he saw his own face reflected back, his haunted eyes, his stubbled chin. Mike tossed the badge away from him, then headed for the bathroom.

Clean up, he told himself. Get your mind off of it. Prepare yourself for what you can find tonight. Make them happy, collect your paycheck, and get the hell out.

And once you do, never go back again.


	13. Gold

**Thursday, November 11, 1993**

The purple and white building ominously loomed as the old blue '83 Suzuki FX pulled into the parking lot. Mike sat in the car for a moment, watching the sign. Freddy's face flickered off and on. Some parts of the sign stayed lit longer than others.

Like the eyes.

Mike shuddered as Moira's call from earlier still hung on his mind. She wouldn't want him here. And she didn't know _just_ how real her fears of losing him could become once the animatronics tired of him. That he, too, would disappear, and never come back. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, still remembering that day. Like before, Mike brushed off the strange sense of déjà vu.

That this happened before.

He slid out of the driver's seat and slammed the door behind him. It didn't matter now. Nothing mattered except getting inside. His legs drug the rest of his body with him. Mike bit back a shudder as he walked. A sense of need overcame him, drawing him in as though he were meant to be here. He directed his focus to finding the front door key. He shot a quick glance to his watch as he sorted them out.

11:45pm.

Good, he had just enough time to go in, peek behind the wall, and see what they wanted. Maybe then, he would get his answers and _finally_ be able to leave this place behind.

His fingers barely clasped the right key as he unlocked the door. For a moment, the brightness of the past filled the room, with several children running around and laughing. Mike's eyes went to one of the birthday tables at the edge of the stage. Briefly, he saw two figures sitting there, a young child with tears rolling down his face, and a taller boy trying to comfort him.

The darker, emptier room returned as he pulled the door open. Mike didn't even register the little jingle overhead. Images of the past mingled with the present as his eyes went to the stage. Flashes of gold covered all three of them, gone the instant it came.

"Kid?"

Mike winced when he recognized the voice and blinked away his thoughts. He took a step back when he noticed the janitor, and immediately felt foolish afterwards.

The older man looked Mike over. He took in his combed hair and shaven face, the neat appearance doing little to to hide the haunted weariness sticking out from his ashen skin. Most of all, he took in the night guard's overall demeanor and cold determination.

"You came back," the janitor said, gently.

"...I had to," Mike replied.

The janitor nodded, recalling their conversation that morning.

"Had an incident today," he said, getting right into it. "The wall by the bathrooms collapsed. Thought you should know."

Mike's head snapped to look down the bathroom hall. The sight of the damage drained any remaining color in his face. He saw the dark void, the edge of a game cabinet and nothing else. Grabbing his flashlight, Mike ran down the hall, his mind thinking only of nightmares and music boxes.

"I can save you some time, kid," the janitor called behind him. "It's not there anymore."

The flashlight clicked on before the old man finished his first sentence. The light spilled into the farthest corner as the old man said his final word. Mike froze when entered the hidden room. Part of the tile floor looked cleaner than the rest, with several footprints disturbing the dust.

And the outline of where _something_ used to sit.

A set of footsteps approached behind him, the distinct clacking of shoes on tile.

"Like I told you," the janitor said. "It's not there."

Mike winced again as he turned around, the bright beam landing right in the janitor's face. The older man quickly held an arm over his eyes to protect them.

"Geez, kid, you _tryin'_ to blind me?"

"Sorry," Mike whispered, clicking off the flashlight. "...Where is it?"

The janitor rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times, then gestured for him to follow.

"Over here," he said. "Had it moved s'you could get a better look at it."

Mike nodded and put the flashlight away. He followed the janitor to the backstage area. As they passed by the stage, he froze upon realization of _exactly_ what the janitor told just him.

That _he_ could get a better look.

"How did you-?"

"You said you were lookin' for something," the janitor replied with a shrug. "Noticed _where_ you were lookin' when you said it."

Mike stared at him.

"...So you broke the wall?"

"Yep," the janitor said honestly. "Made it look like an accident. Worked a little too well, but we don't have time for storytellin'."

At the mention of time, Mike glanced at his watch.

11:48pm.

The janitor entered the back room and flicked on the light. Mike followed. He knew from the size and shape of the outline what to expect: another animatronic. His dream came to mind, of the weird yellow Bonnie. All of it felt impossible, unreal, but it made sense. The outline, his dream, both the game cabinets and the animatronic…

His hands ached at the memory of trying to rip them away.

Mike carefully stepped into the room. He intentionally looked at the heads on the back shelf to avoid looking at the animatronic for a moment, to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to see. Despite it, when he finally dared to look down at the table, the sight still took him by surprise.

There, spread out on the workbench, was the Bonnie from his dream, the golden color barely visible under the remnants of dirt and must. Tarnished silver disks rested on the bottom of each eye socket, making the thing stare ahead. The right ear was snapped off at the bisect, the left intact, but fraying. The missing piece rested beside it, just as dusty as anything else.

Mike glanced over the animatronic's body, at each tear in the suit, each frayed wire, each exposed bit of endoskeleton. His stomach lurched at the smell the thing carried, similar to the one he caught on Bonnie and Freddy, but less potent. The exposed metal feet looked strange compared to the endoskeleton's. It now sat in the corner, out of sight of the camera.

He continued his examination, but froze when he got to the thing's hands. They, more than anything, struck a nerve with him.

The lights above flickered, and for a second, the animatronic looked brand new, its silver disc eyes now plastic and green, its golden color bright, the old costume whole and complete once more.

Mike barely stifled a scream as he grabbed his right arm. Pain shot through it, just as intense and fresh as when it first happened.

* * *

_**Friday, July 22, 1983**_

_Gold. All around, he saw gold. Golden balloons, golden streamers, golden birthday party hats, golden animatronics. Gold, gold, gold, broken up only with occasional purple highlights. Up on the stage, Freddy and Bonnie had been replaced with different animatronics, and ones that looked..._strange _compared to the usual ones. Both wore purple bow ties to match the theme and Freddy now sported a purple top hat. Even Chica's normally bright yellow had been toned down to better match her bandmates. Her cupcake, Dulcie, got a purple makeover for the event._

_Mike sat at the party table, already bored. He mentally compared the place now to when he first came here a decade ago. Freddy Fazbear's was celebrating its tenth year in business this month, and for it, out came the gold. He decided he hated the theme._

_Still, most of the place remained more or less unchanged. It still had several of the games he remembered from childhood, the food was still decent, and while the shows changed a bit, they still tried to appeal to both their target audience and the adults and teenagers who had to sit with them._

_It made babysitting a little easier._

_Mike sipped at his fourth cup of soda, then looked at the small child beside him. Jamie Green was turning six today, though for a birthday child, he looked anything _but _happy or excited. He sat awkwardly beside Mike, and tried to keep the tears from rolling down his face. Around them, the rest of the birthday party - only a few of Jamie's friends, Mike noted - were either playing the games or watching the show._

_His main job was to keep an eye on Brian, and to make sure Jamie had a good time. Mrs. Green had a sudden family emergency, and pulled him in as a last-minute option._

"_Brian can be cruel sometimes," she told him. "Please make sure he's okay. I'll be there as soon as I can."_

_He promised her. And things_

had _been going well up until the show started. Mike learned _very _quickly how much Jamie hated the animatronics. He hated even more that Brian already got to his younger brother. So far, moving to another table, distracting Jamie with pizza, and keeping their backs to the stage all helped. That Mike had to play bodyguard at all made him loathe Brian._

_Greatly._

"_Do you want to go play one of the games?" Mike asked in an attempt to coax his young charge out of his seat._

_Jamie shook his head._

"_I h-hate it here," he whispered. "They're scary."_

_Mike frowned. Ten years ago, at about Jamie's age, he walked into Freddy Fazbear's for the first time, and still remembered the sense of magic and wonder upon entering those doors and seeing the animatronics come to life. A lot of the charm had worn off with age, but he firmly believed no child should be unhappy here. And he hated seeing Jamie cry._

"_The animatronics?" Mike asked._

_Jamie nodded._

_Mike understood. He turned to the smaller boy._

"_Want to know a secret?" he asked, putting his soda cup down._

_Jamie kicked his feet, bit his lip._

"_What?" he asked._

_Mike paused a moment, then looked to the left and right to make sure no one would overhear. He then turned back to Jamie and lowered his voice, making it clear this was for him, and him alone._

"_...I used to be scared of them too."_

_That got the little boy to perk up. He reached up a hand to wipe his dark eyes as he glanced up at Mike._

"_R-really?"_

_Mike nodded with a smile._

"_Yeah," he said, gently. "Mostly Foxy."_

_He couldn't even _look _at the fox the first few times he came here, and remembered his mother used to take him to play the games whenever Foxy came out to tell a story._"_But don't tell anyone, okay?"_

_Jamie curiously looked him over as he tried to decide if he believed him or not._

"_Okay…" he said, "but you're not scared of anything!"_

_Mike chuckled. In the short time he'd been here, he really grew a soft spot for this kid._

"_That's because I grew up," he said. "It's okay to be scared when you're small. They're a lot bigger when you're small. But when you grow up, they don't seem so big anymore. Then they're not as scary."_

_That seemed to ease Jamie, but the child still showed several signs of nervousness._

"_I don't like their teeth."_

"_That's why I didn't like Foxy," Mike admitted. At least Jamie was being receptive to him. "But here's another secret: they're all just toys. Really big toys."_

"_Toys?" Jamie asked._

_Mike gave him a small smile._

"_Yeah. They're just bigger, is all."_

_That seemed to calm Jamie down a little._

"_I still don't like them."_

_Mike pondered a moment._

"_Do you have any toy cars?" he asked. "Airplanes? Something with a remote control?"_

_Jamie thought it over, then perked, his smile suddenly big._

"_Oh, my robot!" he exclaimed. "It's purple, and rolls around and you can make the arms move!"_

_Mike nodded._

"_Do you know what's under the purple case?"_

"_Um...wires?"_

"_And metal pieces, right?" Mike asked._

"_I think so…"_

_Mike nodded again, then gestured behind him to the stage, though he didn't force Jamie to look over. The animatronics wound down to finish the last verse of their song._

"_It's the same thing here," he said. "They're just metal and wires and funny costumes. And there's probably someone in the back room with a remote control making them sing and dance."_

_He glanced down to the little boy._

"_Does that help?"_

_Jamie pondered it for a moment, but nodded._

"_A little."_

_Mike smiled. He hardly expected Jamie to immediately overcome his fear, but he considered it a victory that the little boy already seemed less nervous, if still wary._

"_I stopped being afraid of them once I knew how they worked," Mike continued, "and if I can stop being afraid, one day, you won't be afraid either."_

_He reached down and gently mussed up Jamie's soft brown hair. Jamie squirmed away from him._

"_Anyway," Mike said, moving off the subject for his charge's comfort, "you sure you don't want to go play some games?"_

_Jamie pondered it for a moment._

"_...Will you play with me?"_

"_Of course. We're here to have fun, right?"_

_Mike stood and retrieved the plastic token cup. He offered his hand to Jamie, and once the little boy slipped out of his seat, he led him over to the games by the stage. Jamie tugged his hand._

"_Not those," he said. "I don't like over there."_

_Mike stopped and looked down at him, then back at the row of games. A memory niggled him for a second._

"_...Huh," he said. "I didn't either. Guess some things never change."_

_Mike lead Jamie to the other side of the room, into the alcove by the bathrooms. He let Jamie get settled at a simple one, where the player moved Chica back and forth to catch the right ingredients to make a cupcake. Mike let Jamie get engrossed in the game, then immediately played lookout. The fact that he hadn't seen Brian in several minutes made him suspicious._

_That asshole was probably going to try something, like he always did._

_Every now and then, Mike glanced to the game, encouraged Jamie's progress, and helped him if he needed it. But his priority remained on locating Brian, and keeping him from pestering his little brother. Mike's vigilance paid off. He spotted Brian in the back of the room with three of his friends._

_Great. The jerk and his band of cronies were up to something, when they were supposed to be keeping the rest of the birthday party under control. At the very least, the kids were all in places where they could safely be seen. Still, Mike stayed near Jamie._

_For a while, things worked out well. Mike kept Jamie with him. He found himself legitimately surprised to see Brian and his friends actually taking care of the guests and making sure each younger child was safe and having fun. Good; at least he wasn't the only one babysitting._

_After a time, Brian and his friends got the other kids gathered by the stage to watch the special show meant specifically for the birthday party. Mike sensed danger, and got in front of Jamie, who now lead Bonnie through a maze to collect carrots. Hopefully, Brian could let the kid still play in peace._

"_It's time for the show, Jamie," Brian said, his voice dripping with mock sweetness._

"_He's playing," Mike said. "Leave him alone."_

"_Aww, but everything's nice and shiny _just _for him."_

_Mike heard the plastic joystick and click of the buttons suddenly stop._

"_Keep playing, Jamie," he said. He crossed his arms in front of him as he stared Brian down. "It's your birthday, and you don't have to watch the show if you don't want to."_

"_Sure he does," Brian insisted. "He _is _the birthday boy."_

"_Fuck off," Mike said._

"_Don't use that lan-guage," Brian said, in a sing-song voice. "There's lit-tle kids here."_

"_Like you give a shit."_

"_You're right," Brian said, stepping forward, "I don't."_

_Mike kept Jamie behind him. He felt the little boy cling tightly to his shirt, the game now forgotten. That little gesture of fear made his hatred for Brian flare._

"_Can't you leave him alone for _one _goddamn day?" Mike asked hotly. "He's actually having fun, and I won't let you and your fucking friends ruin it."_

_"Hey, if I gotta babysit, I want to have fun too."_

"_Go watch the other kids," Mike snarled. "I've got Jamie."_

_Brian pushed him. Mike quickly planted his feet to make sure he didn't accidentally knock back into Jamie._

"_B-Brian, stop it!" Jamie protested._

_"He's _my _brother," Brian sneered, ignoring Jamie. "You don't get to tell me what to do."_

_Mike pushed him back, mostly to get the other teen away from him._

"_I'll tell your mom."_

"_I'll tell too!" Jamie exclaimed._

_"No you won't," Brian said._

_Jamie shrunk back a little._

"_Y-yes I will," he whispered, then slipped back behind Mike._

_Mike narrowed his eyes. He hated Brian more with each passing second. Thoughts of taking this outside and pounding him into the ground entered his mind - actually not a bad idea. Only the thought of Jamie being right there kept him back. But there had to be a way..._

_He smirked when he saw a waitress nearby._

_Bingo._

"_Hey, miss!" he shouted, trying to get her attention._

_Brian turned, confused, but as Mike hoped, the other teen didn't notice her in time to stop him from doing what he wanted._

"_This kid's bothering Jamie and making him cry!"_

_The waitress immediately came over to investigate. Good, Mike thought. Now he had a witness, and suddenly, Brian realized it too. There was _no way _his parents would buy anything he said if Mike, Jamie, _and _a neutral adult all said the same thing._"_He's my _brother_!" Brian protested._

_The waitress frowned._

"_Young man," she said, "if you can't behave, you will have to leave."_

"_Yeah, Brian," Mike said, smugly. "Wouldn't want to make the _birthday boy _leave early because his big brother's a jerk."_

_Jamie peeked out from behind Mike again, and looked up at the waitress, whose demeanor brightened upon seeing him._

"_Oh, it's your birthday today?" she asked. "Happy birthday!"_

"_Th-thank you," Jamie said._

"_How old are you?"_

"_Six."_

_"Are you having fun?"_

"_He's trying to," Mike said, glaring at Brian._

_The waitress sensed the tension as she turned to Brian. She kept up her smile, but it held the undertone of wavering thin ice as she spoke again._

"_Let's make today a happy day, okay?"_

_Brian started to protest, but he knew Mike had him where he wanted him. He backed down, knowing there was no way he could protest without looking like an ass._

"_...Yes, ma'am," he muttered._

"_Good," the waitress said cheerfully. She then turned to Mike and Jamie. "Let me know if there are any more problems."_

_"Oh, we will," Mike promised._

_He shot Brian a victorious smirk, then turned to Jamie. Behind him, he heard the Bonnie game make the "game over" noise as the time limit to get the purple rabbit out of the maze ran out._

"_Why don't we go try that Foxy game over there?" he asked, using Jamie's game over as an excuse to get away from Brian._

_He made sure Jamie stayed in front of him, and away from his older brother._

"_O-okay," Jamie said nervously._

_But he looked more than relieved to get away from Brian. Mike happily retrieved the tickets Jamie earned from the Bonnie game, then walked out of the little alcove and over to a game cabinet near the front entrance. He stood beside it to play lookout while Jamie directed a digital Foxy around a sandy beach to dig for treasure. Brian flipped Mike off the second the waitress turned her back. Mike just gave him a sly grin and watched him storm over to watch the show with the other kids._

_Good. He could watch Jamie in peace and make sure he actually enjoyed his time here. Mike felt really good about coming in today. Maybe if he could ensure Jamie had a good time, he could help him not be so afraid of the animatronics. Of course, that also meant finding a way to expose Brian's cruel pranks._

_They moved back to the alcove to try another game after a time, this one with Freddy, and to push the arcade buttons to match moving notes on the screen. It took a bit more practice than some of the others, but Jamie seemed to really enjoy it._

_Mike glanced over at the stage show from time to time, mostly to help keep an eye on the other kids if Brian and his friends got too overwhelmed with them. There were only about four or five young guests, though, and Brian and his posse could definitely handle it. Mike just had to keep Jamie occupied throughout the show, then there would be cake and presents, and they could all go home happy. Mike smiled at the thought. He would make sure today was a good one._

_The Fazbear band started another song as Jamie began another round of note-matching. Mike watched the new golden animatronics. He tried to pick out what bothered him about them besides the golden theme and different designs. Aside from the main colors, he noticed Bonnie's eyes went from red to green, that Freddy's were now brown. The shape and color of their muzzles were also different, with Bonnie's being one continuous color with the rest of his face. On top of it, the two of them seemed bigger than usual, particularly in comparison to Chica._

_All of the animatronics' heads moved over the crowd, both for routine and to ensure the kids felt special when one of them looked their way. Mike kept watching them, entranced. Bonnie's head turned in his direction. Maybe the robot simply stalled, but it felt like the thing picked him out and honed in on him. Mike glanced to Jamie to make sure he was still focused on the game, then back to the stage._

_Bonnie no longer stared at him, just strummed his guitar in time to the song. His upper body moved to the beat with his fellow band members. That's when Mike narrowed down what bothered him about the new animatronic: Bonnie's fingers moved with more dexterity over his guitar than he remembered._

_Five fingers, to be exact, compared to Chica's four. Freddy had them too. He tried to pinpoint exactly why this bothered him, but a celebratory sound from the game cabinet interrupted his thoughts as he turned in time to see a victory screen flash in front of him._

"_Look, Mike!" Jamie said, excitedly. He pointed to the digital Freddy doing a little dance. "I did it! I won!"_

"_Great job, Jamie!" Mike said, looking properly impressed. He glanced at Jamie's score. "Hey, you almost made it to the daily board. Want to try again and see if you can get your initials up?"_

_"Yeah!"_

_Jamie excitedly grabbed the token cup to pull out another shiny gold coin for the machine._

"_You've got this," Mike said, watching the game start up again._

_He smiled as he watched Jamie eagerly play; the little boy completely focused on matching each note correctly. But it wasn't long before he suddenly felt a painful urge in his jeans._

_Goddamnit. That soda went right through him. Mike tried not to think about it, but his mind went to the four cups he drank before he and Jamie started this game binge, which only made the urge worse. He took a quick glance around the room, mostly to make sure Brian and his friends were occupied, and relaxed when he saw the waitress nearby, serving a table not far from the Freddy game._

"_I'm going to run to the bathroom," Mike told Jamie. He trusted that with Brian and Co. occupied and the waitress doing her rounds, he could run off for two minutes. "I'll be_ right _back, okay?"_

_Jamie didn't look up from his game._

"_Okay, Mike," he said as he pushed a button to make Freddy hit another note._

_Mike patted his head, then headed for the bathrooms after double-checking to make sure Brian hadn't noticed that Jamie was alone. Just get in and out._

_The sound of Freddy announcing a final song faintly echoed in the bathrooms as Mike quickly took an unoccupied urinal. Great. Good thing Jamie was distracted with the games; the damn things were probably going to come offstage and walk with the birthday party as soon as it finished. But he still had time; he would be done and cleaned up before the song ended, and then he could make sure he was beside Jamie when it was time for cake and presents._

_After that, they could go home._

_He tried to hurry. Luckily, by the time Mike finished and got to the sink to wash up, the song still had one more verse to go through. Mike turned off the tap and more clearly heard the animatronic band sing the last few words. He didn't bother with the dryer, just wiped his hands on his jeans as he walked back out._

"_You heard the little man," Mike heard a familiar voice say as he entered the main dining area. "He wants to get closer!"_

Shit_._

"_Hey guys," Brian said cheerfully. "I think the little man said he wants to give Freddy a big kiss!"_

_He and his friends held a struggling Jamie up on their shoulders. Mike ran towards the stage as the group lifted Jamie up near the animatronic's moving mouth. The terrified child begged and cried for his tormentors to put him down. That alone gave Mike a boost of speed._

"_Don't you fuckers _dare_!"_

_But they already had him up in the air. Jamie's tear-streaked face got dangerously close to the golden Freddy's gigantic mouth. It looked like the child's whole head might fit!_

_Thinking quickly, Mike leaped up on the stage. Just as Brian and his crew hoisted Jamie up into the animatronic's mouth, Mike moved in front of Freddy. He jumped up just in time to push Jamie's head out as the moving jaws closed in._

_The gears halted, and a strange grinding sound entered Mike's ears. Faucet water dripped down his hands and upper arms. The droplets leaked into Freddy's mouth. The metal jaws jammed and dug into his flesh. Mike shoved a sneaker into Freddy's side and tried to yank himself back. The spot just before his right elbow jammed right where the jaws connected with the head. His right wrist became just as stuck on the other side._

_With his right arm wedged in place, Mike pulled the left one away. The plastic teeth caught the skin at his wrist just as the metal springs shut tightly with a distinct _snap_._

_He didn't register the pain at first, only the shock of what was happening, the feeling of the world slowly coming to a halt. That Jamie was safe, and he'd made sure of it._

_A second later, every nerve that still remained intact screamed out at once._

_Mike hardly heard the screaming children over his own shrieks of pain. He didn't see Brian's or his friends' faces turn white, or that Jamie, mercifully, hadn't quite noticed yet due to his own confusion and fear from narrowly avoiding danger._

_Panic crept over Mike as he tried to pull both of his arms free. His right arm refused to budge, but with a painful twist and tearing some of skin, he freed his left arm. Mike again tried to leverage himself against Freddy. He used his now-free hand to try to push up against Freddy's snout in an attempt to release the jaws. Something must have broken Freddy; his jaws no longer moved to sing, even though the animatronic's arms and torso still moved to the beat._

_Red streams leaked over his golden fur. Mike helplessly let his right arm go limp. The residual robotic movements forced him up onto his toes to better match the animatronic's height. He gripped Freddy's nose to better anchor himself as the blood rolled down his arm. It hurt less than trying to pull his arm free._

_The waitress burst from the kitchen, and from one of the adjoining rooms, a man in a purple uniform ran up to the stage. He got behind the golden Freddy, and thinking quickly, hit a switch at the bear's neck, hidden just under his costume._

_The animatronic stopped moving. On either side, Bonnie and Chica cheerfully finished the song. The guard then quickly went to both of them and hit the switches to shut them off to prevent them from moving and adding to the chaos._

_He came back around to check on Mike. Below the stage, the waitress and other staff gathered kids. Many screamed and cried, hysterical that "Freddy bit him!" In the corner of his eye, Mike saw Brian trying to comfort Jamie._

_So the jerk had something resembling a heart after all. Who knew?_

"_What happened, kid?"_

_Mike immediately looked up at the security guard. The man blank face held eyes that tried to show concern, an awkward line of a mouth that mimicked an appropriate reaction. Mike tried to speak, but instead, choked sobs clogged his throat._

"_J-Jamie," he managed. "Had to h-help."_

_And it was a good thing he did, he realized. This damn thing broke his arm; what would have happened had he not pushed Jamie's head out in time...?_

_As the thought sunk in, something snapped. The sobs of pain mingled with sobs of relief. Mike moved his good hand up to his mouth. The chaos around him, the animatronics, even the man in the purple uniform no longer registered anymore._

"_...He's safe. Oh god, he's safe. I-I kept him...He'll be-be okay. He'll be okay…"_

_Mike kept on with the mantra. It kept some of the pain back and allowed him to somewhat function as the staff got the birthday party gathered. Someone at the front desk called for an ambulance. Brian gave one of the waitresses a number to call his parents._

_The security guard carefully took Mike's hand from Freddy's nose. He held the cup of his purple sleeve in his palm to help staunch the bleeding, then shifted his body to let Mike utilize him as a brace instead of Freddy. Two staff members came over. One of them held a first aid kit, the other a long rod. Working together, they used the metal rod to pry the jaws open. As gently as they could, they lifted Mike's arm from Freddy's mouth. They held gauze to the wounds as they worked. Mike whimpered in pain. He buried his face in the guard's shirt to avoid looking at the damage._

_He felt the man tighten his grip around him to keep him stabilized and in place. Mike winced and cried out a bit as the other staff members worked his right wrist and elbow away from Freddy's teeth._

"_It's okay, son," the guard said, quietly. "Try to hold still. Sarah has some medical training. She's going to get it under control while we wait for the ambulance."_

_Mike just nodded. He bit his lip and tried not to whimper as Sarah instructed the other staff member. She kept his arm as straight as she could while the staff member carefully pressed gauze around the wounds. Once they had him stabilized, she had the guard help him lie down on the stage, then sent the other staff member to grab some rulers from the prize counter._

_Sarah spoke with Mike, mostly to keep him focused. His name, his address, his blood type if he knew it. Mike barely paid enough attention to answer her questions, his focus now solely on the golden Freddy._

_Blood poured from the animatronic's mouth. It stained the golden fur and dripped onto the stage. Freddy's lifeless brown eyes stared ahead. One golden hand reached out to the crowd as if begging for help. Mike saw something shine in the corner of his eye. Probably just the golden fur catching the light, but for a moment..._

_He cried out, temporarily pulled from his thoughts as Sarah pushed the rulers against his broken wrist. She carefully layered gauze and bandages until she created a stiff splint._

"_It's okay," she said quietly. "I know, I know it hurts. Just try to hold still."_

_She moved to his elbow and splinted that as well. A large cloth covered his body. Mike glanced down to see one a waitress adjust a tablecloth to around him to keep him from going into shock. Sarah's other assistant wrapped his left wrist while she used gauze and cheap prize rulers to keep his right arm straight._

_Mike settled back again. He tried to ignore the pain as Sarah worked on his right arm. His eyes kept staring at the blood congealing against the soft yellow fabric, at the white teeth now stained with red, the soulless eyes staring out into nothing. Mike didn't register when the medics came and took over his care, the waitresses calming down the children and calling their parents, or Brian holding Jamie tightly._

_The entire room became a blur as Mike was lifted into a stretcher and wheeled out._

_Gold._

_Golden balloons, golden streamers, and golden animatronics, all melding together in a strange, disoriented mess._

_All he saw anymore was gold._

* * *

"...Kid?"

The voice sounded distant, so far away that he barely registered it.

"Kid!"

Mike winced upon registering the nickname and blinked a few times. The janitor stood in front of him, hands on his shoulders to gently shake him and bring him back to reality. Mike let go of his arm, feeling as limp as a rag doll. Before him, the yellow Bonnie looked old again, the light and shadows giving its face a skull-like appearance, its filthy body resembling a corpse. Mike shook his head, then looked up at the janitor. Judging by the older man's expression, he looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Kid, you okay? You screamed, and then you just...blanked out for a bit there."

Mike blinked again, then looked back to the old animatronic. He pulled away from the janitor's grasp and approached it.

"...I know this suit," he whispered, his eyes focused on the thing's hands. At the five fingers that bothered him since he first noticed them years ago. "Th-the hands, I...I remember the hands."

_Why_ did this one have five fingers?

"It _has_ to be the same one," Mike said quietly. "It was...it was there. That day."

"Don't know what you're talkin' about kid," the janitor said, gently. "Mind fillin' me in?"

Mike went quiet again. His arm ached as his eyes went to the thing's feet, the slots for toes, the hollow ankles. Was the robot missing part of its endoskeleton?

"This one didn't bite me," he said, ignoring the janitor's question. "Freddy did. It was just..._there_."

He ran his hand over his arm again to try to rid it of a sudden chill.

"But why would they…" Mike whispered, "...why _this_ one?"

He examined the thing's face, its empty sockets that no longer retained green plastic eyes. Only the silver discs where the eyes should be.

"...What are they trying to show me?"

"What d'you mean by 'they', kid?" the janitor asked. "The critters?"

Something clicked. Mike jolted, then immediately checked his watch.

11:54pm.

"...You need to leave," he said quietly.

The janitor crossed his arms.

"Not until you tell me what this is all about."

"It's almost midnight," Mike said, keeping his voice urgent. "You need to leave. _Now!_"

"Kid-"

Mike ignored him and pushed the other man toward the door.

"_Please!_" Mike begged. "In the morning! I promise!"

The janitor stopped resisting and began to walk on his own.

"Okay, kid. Okay. I'm going."

He turned to look at the night guard. The old man's eyes were softer now, but held an emotion that Mike couldn't quite place.

"Whatever you do tonight, kid, _be careful_," the janitor warned him. "Like the rest of this place, that suit has history."

Mike followed him to the front door. He glanced to the stages, the prize counter as he passed them, then nodded to the janitor. He wished he had time to inquire further, but maybe he'd find out tonight anyway. Both Freddy and the Puppet wanted him alive, and Mike trusted he had at least one more night.

"That goes without saying," he replied.

The janitor returned the nod, then opened the door. Only the door jingle made any sound. Mike already turned before the door shut and headed for the stage. Carefully, he looked up at the large bear, knowing in only a few minutes, it would come to life with the others.

"I don't understand yet," he said quietly, "but I'm trying."

Freddy just continued to stare ahead, his usual soft, lazy expression unchanging. Mike then turned to head to his office, picking up his pace to save time and get to the prize counter. The blue-green box sat quietly, wrapped in its purple ribbon. He carefully stepped toward it, setting his hand over the top.

"...Help me," he whispered.

Because if he could put his trust in any one of them, it was the only one that hadn't tried to attack him yet.

The one that got him this far.

Mike glanced behind him. He swore he heard something, but the dining room remained unchanged. The silver stars glimmered in their last moments before the power diverted to a generator, the dining room tables stood ready and waiting for the children tomorrow, and the onstage animatronics still waited with the same poses and expressions.

Until Freddy's head turned slightly toward him.

Mike quickly booked it down the hall.


	14. Home

_**Summer 1978**_

_Mike walked faster and took the lead. He didn't speak again until they made it out of the front entrance and part way through the parking lot._

"_...I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just-there was something w-weird, and I panicked, and-"_

_The hand he held pulled away, only to rest on his shoulder. Another hand found his other shoulder. Both of them gently gripped him to keep him still._

"_Mike," his friend said. "Ma says whenever you feel unsafe, you leave, no matter what, right?"_

_Mike nodded._

"_Do you feel safe right now?"_

_Mike shook his head._

"_Okay," his friend continued. "That means we have to go."_

_The hands left his shoulders. One of them took his own hand again._

"_Do you remember what I told you when you came to live with us? What I promised?"_

_Mike went quiet. He shook his head, unable to look up as they walked. The grip on his hand tightened in comfort._

"_Nothing's going to hurt you again," came the answer, "because I'm going to protect you."_"_Yeah," Mike agreed. "You're right."_

_He heard the smile in his friend's voice._

"_I'm older," he said. "I _have _to be right, remember?"_

_That got them both to laugh. Mike shot a final glance back over his shoulder, at the neon sign in the distance where Freddy's face now looked about the size of a normal teddy bear's. The sign flickered. The bear's eyes lit up and remained for a second longer._

* * *

**Friday, November 12, 1993**

After last night's call, Mike grimly took his seat. He allowed the usual ambience to settle in. There would be no phone call tonight. After the demise of his predecessor, the only things left to hear were the relative silence of the building in its final moment before midnight, the buzzing of the light, the hum of the fan. On either side of him, the lights in the hallway shut off as the building's power diverted to a generator.

Mike looked at the blank monitor on his desk, at his reflection on the dark screen. He winced. The purple circles that surrounded his eyes looked like sunken sockets in the grim light, the eyes themselves highlighted, not unlike the bright pinpricks he kept seeing in the animatronics. Mike pulled the brim of his hat down solely to keep the light from reflecting in his eyes. The effect reminded him of his first night, how his reflection encased his eyes in shadow.

And reminded him of someone else.

Nothing to do now but get to it. Mike reached for the little power button on the monitor to bring up the stage show. All three band members still stood, but the camera blacked out just as he got a glimpse of them. Mike shut it off, knowing to give it a few seconds and try again. For now, he had a moment alone.

The phone rang.

Mike jumped at the sudden noise, then looked over to the phone on the desk. His eyes widened in disbelief.

_It didn't...maybe I'm just hearing things_, he thought. _I'm just used to it ringing at midnight_.

It rang again. This time, Mike saw the little red button light up just above the keypad, indicating an actual phone call trying to come through.

_Why is it ringing?_

Only one person ever called him, he realized. Hope replaced fear for a moment. His chilled blood to warm again. Maybe Phone Guy survived after all!

Mike reached to answer it, but did nothing more than graze his fingers over the handset. He dared to hope for good news as he glanced to the open doors on either side, his ears perked for their movement. The phone rang one more time before going to the answering machine. Mike held his breath as it clicked on. He hopefully listened for that familiar, "Hello, hello?"

White noise burst from the phone. Mike winced and expected the call to cut off, but the white noise stopped, replaced with the garbled mess from the depths of a demon's throat. Electronic splicing and sputtering clawed into his ears. The jarring distortions and changes in pitch reminded him of a tape playing backwards.

Mike froze as he listened, his breath caught in his throat. When he let it out, he swore he saw his breath in the suddenly chilled air.

Phone Guy's final message?

As he tried to pick out anything resembling decipherable words from the deep, incomprehensible voice, the three monitors somewhat working monitors suddenly lit up. White noise covered the screens before they showed three images: the edge of the fighting game near the stage, the edge of the stage itself, and a set of brown eyes peering out from the dark.

The images blipped off half a second later. In that moment, Mike found himself unable to breathe.

_Something pressed down against his body. It covered him in a blanket of something wet and dingy, and smelled like the city after rain. The weight kept him in place, like a butterfly trapped between glass panels. It dug into his nostrils and slid down his throat, preventing any breath or sound. The weight pressed into his eyes and kept them closed, not that he'd dare to open them._

The call suddenly ended in a spliced scream cutting in and out. Mike jolted as his lungs finally let in a breath. In his panic, he kicked his chair away from his desk. The handpiece clattered onto the floor. A second later, the little red light on the phone turned off to indicate the message stopped. Mike stared at the phone on the floor. The cord hung off the edge of the desk. He glanced back to the monitors, then carefully pulled his chair forward again. He bent down to reach the handset. A stifled breath barely crept from his aching throat as he listened to the stillness of the building.

Only the fan and the overhead light made any noise. The building itself settled down. The phone's base sat on the desk, now as dead as the man who once called. Mike swallowed hard as his fingers gripped the handpiece. He sat back up, then slowly put it back in its cradle. He then looked over the monitors, and tried to piece together what he saw before: brown eyes, the fighter game, and the edge of the stage, complete with part of Bonnie's purple foot.

Eyes…

_Human _eyes? Or animatronic? Mike hadn't been able to tell, he realized; the image had been so quick. He stared at the monitors and almost willed them to turn on again, to give him more.

Every screen remained black, and every power button stayed off.

After giving himself another moment, Mike reached to turn on the one mostly-reliable monitor.

Only Freddy occupied the stage now. He stared ahead into the dining room. Mike briefly recalled the bear's deep baritone and tried to compare it to the message he heard just now. The animatronic caught the Phone Guy in the middle of leaving his last message when he took him out; maybe Freddy himself left tonight's message?

The old bear remained still. He continued to stare ahead and gave no indication of an answer to that question. Mike quickly changed the view to check for the others.

Bonnie marched alone in the dining room. He deviated from his usual routine to linger near the back, where the shadows distorted his face and body. Chica wandered by the bathrooms. She stared ahead into the hole in the wall unseen behind the camera and tilted her head in what appeared to be interest or curiosity, but otherwise stayed away from it. Mike welcomed it because at least she wasn't giving him one of her demonic glares. He then flipped to Pirate Cove, where Foxy already threatened to step down from the stage.

Mike checked the power levels - 97% - and shut off the monitor to give himself a moment to process.

That phone call confirmed what he feared. He was completely on his own now, and needed to rely on his own wit and judgment to survive. All of the fear, the nightmares and memories, the phone calls - he needed to push them back, just focus on getting through the rest of the night.

He turned the monitor back on. Foxy remained in place, but looked up at the camera, his attention now on the night guard. Bonnie still marched with the shadows. Chica apparently lost interest in the once-secret room and now retreated back to the dining room to join her fluffy-tailed companion. Freddy still stared out at an invisible audience.

That left only the back room. Mike winced as he changed the view. He half-expected the thing back there to be sitting up and staring.

_Why did they want me to find you?_ he thought. _What are you hiding?_

The light from the dining room shone into the open doorway, the "new" animatronic barely outlined in the soft glow. Mike breathed a small sigh of relief to see it hadn't moved. He only really saw its right side, with just enough yellow highlights to make out a form in the dark. The silver discs at its eyes caught the light. The glowing effect gave the illusion that its eyes looked at up the camera. Briefly, Mike recalled when it still worked, how its then-green eyes stared at him all those years ago.

"...You're a creepy fucker," Mike whispered. "Do me a favor and stay _right there_ tonight."

The animatronic remained still, just a corpse waiting for an autopsy. Mike listened for the others, changed the camera view to track any movement, and added the back room to the list of rooms to check more frequently. The outline in the hidden alcove might have said the ancient animatronic hadn't moved in years, but it meant little when Foxy, who _also _wasn't supposed to move, ran perfectly well at night. Whatever strange thing that affected the others could affect this one too - and Mike knew better than to take chances.

They _wanted_ him to find that one. They _wanted_ to tell him something, and that alone meant he needed to pay attention to it.

He had no idea what to make of tonight's phone call either; it was either a warning or a message, neither of which he could decipher. Nor was he sure about the images on the monitors, and why he only saw the edges of the game and the stage, and more of the tile floor they sat on than either of the objects themselves. All of the animatronics went back into their normal routines of stalking the building and looking for a chance to get to him.

Why come after him still, then? What did they _want_?

Mike glowered, then turned the monitor back on. Tonight, he decided, he refused to let them get to him, to fear them. Freddy made it clear that morning that they weren't going to take him out just yet, at least until he learned whatever it was they wanted him to know.

That alone bought him precious time.

Mike glanced to the doors on either side. His neck pulsed at the memory of Bonnie dragging him out. Show them no fear, but take no chances and keep them out whenever possible. Anything they needed to tell him would simply echo in his mind anyway; no need to lower his guard and let them in.

A few changes of the camera view showed all of them got to it faster than the last few nights save for Freddy. He doubted the bear would stay put for too much longer. With tonight's phone call and how the last few nights had gone, Mike knew to expect the unexpected.

He changed the camera view to 1C. Foxy paced just outside the Cove. A tall, long-eared shadow barely crossed the open stage. He heard metal clamoring from the kitchen and knew to ignore Chica for a moment. He then flipped the view to the main stage where Freddy still stared up at him, his head tilted at the camera.

Mike shut off the monitor, then glanced at the left door. Judging by that shadow, Bonnie would be his first visitor tonight.

A flip to Cam 2A showed the rabbit's silhouette standing at the end of the hall under dim fluorescents. Mike hated that view almost more than the back room, if only because it disoriented him and fucked with his vision. He changed the view to Cam 1C solely to keep Foxy back, then shut the monitor off again.

The fluorescents still remained in his vision, but the after-image changed. For a brief second, he saw…

Eyes.

Eyes buried deep within sunken sockets, too small for the mask. A dark, round nose protruded in front of them. The image flashed once, then disappeared.

He blinked a few times, but no after-image remained. Mike reached up to rub his eyes with a wish that he got more sleep. Moira's untimely phone call hung in his mind, her worry, her love, her _very_ real fears of losing him. Coming here, night after night...a pathetic laugh forced itself between his lips. She told him to stop running, to stop avoiding things that reminded him of what happened.

If only she realized the irony in her words.

Mike turned the monitor back on, and with it, banished Moira's call away. Focus, he told himself. Try to figure out what they want.

Freddy remained on stage. Foxy paced. Chica wandered around the dining room. The decrepit old corpse rested on its slab in the back room. And Bonnie still lingered at the end of the hall.

Despite the prior warnings, the purple rabbit still had yet to show up at his door. Mike hated the waiting game, the anticipation. Usually, Bonnie came right for him, but in the last several checks, the animatronic kept getting close, lingering in the hallway, then cycling back to the dining room. If anything, he saw _Chica_ more often. He sometimes heard her clicking beak over the sound of her footsteps, a perfect warning to shut her out.

Normally, she lingered for several minutes, sometimes tapped on the window or knocked on the door in hopes he'd open up. Now, she gave up more quickly. She often shot him a quick glance through the window before going away. And of course, he kept an eye on the backstage area.

The new animatronic still laid there, in the exact same position every time he checked. Mike hated the angle from the camera, how it emphasized the thing's skull-like grin, how its silver eyes glimmered in the faint light. But it stayed as he hoped, and it allowed him to move onto another room.

Check Freddy again. Keep Foxy from running. Bonnie's just down the hallway again; prioritize him in case he changes his mind and actually comes for you this time.

Only when the purple rabbit went back into the dining room did Mike check the backstage area once more, morbidly intrigued with the new animatronic. Had it moved its hand while he was distracted with the others? No, it must have been a trick of light; it still laid in the same position as before. Still, every time he glanced back there, his chest tightened and his blood ran cold.

He despised that new animatronic. He hated that it refused to do anything, that it...that it…

_You don't yet understand why you're here_.

Mike winced, then flipped back to the stage show where Freddy still stared up at him. Only the faintest outline of brown marked his silhouette. The pinprick eyes glittered in the dark. Had the bear actually spoken to him again? Or had he simply remembered what Freddy told him that morning?

"What do you _want_?" he whispered. "Why are you guys _still_ coming after me?"

Freddy slowly moved his arm and used the microphone to point to Mike's left.

Towards the backstage room.

Taking the hint, Mike quickly changed the camera view, both to try to see what Freddy wanted, and to get an excuse to look away from the old bear. The golden Bonnie still hadn't moved. It remained on the table, a broken shell of a costume. He reached to turn the knob to change the view back to the stage.

In the corner of his eye, something moved under the work table.

Mike let go of the knob and immediately stared at the table. He tried to determine if he actually saw anything at all. He listened for movement and kept checking the animatronic on the table, which remained as still as ever. After a near minute of staring with nothing to show for it, Mike decided he imagined it.

That he _wanted_ to see something there.

92% power, and a glance to his watch lit up 12:49am in glowing green digits. He flipped through the views to check the animatronics' positions, then went back to the stage.

"I don't understand," he said quietly, unsure if Freddy could hear him.

The bear's jaw moved down, giving only a dark laugh in response. Mike glowered at him, frustrated.

"If you want me to leave this office," he said, "forget it. I don't trust _any_ of you."

Freddy only laughed again.

Mike glared at him, then flipped back to Pirate Cove, where Foxy still stalked in front of the little stage. The old pirate paid him no heed. Content for a moment, Mike reached for the knob to flip the view again.

Just as his fingers touched it, Foxy lurched toward the camera. He jolted his head as he moved so his golden eyes stared right up at the security guard, their bright yellow color fading to black. Mike yelped and nearly fell out of his seat. Foxy closed his mouth, grinning with the broken jaw askew. He turned his head solely to show off his jagged teeth. Some of them gleamed with gold.

_Best be keepin' watch, matey_.

Mike hit the knob solely to stop looking at Foxy and brought up a view of the currently empty dining room. He tried not to think of how that sounded like a threat. What did he need to watch for, besides them? The new animatronic?

His fingers gripped the knob to change the view, when a bit of movement caught his attention. This time, he saw it for certain: one corner of a tablecloth ending its sway to still again.

The Puppet?

Mike swore he saw something move in the back room. And only the Puppet ever moved under the tables.

Before he could get a closer look, a sound caught his attention. To the left, padded feet approached. Without a second thought, Mike kicked his chair over to hit the door switch. A glance down showed one purple pawed foot right in front of the doorway just before the magnetic locks clicked shut.

"About time, you bastard," Mike muttered.

Admittedly, he preferred it when _none_ of them were near him, but at least this relieved his anticipation for the moment. He turned the monitor off, keeping an ear out for the right door in case Chica felt like coming by again. He grabbed his flashlight, clicked it on, and aimed it out the office window to check for Bonnie. He saw nothing but a gray speckled wall and children's drawings. Mike then hit the door light, just long enough to see it cast a long-eared shadow on the nearby wall. He took a deep breath, then turned on the monitor. He flipped through each view as fast as possible before noting the time and power.

12:54am, and 90%.

Once Mike accounted for the others, he turned the monitor off, then kicked his chair over to hit the light switch. The office window lit up, and Mike frowned, frustrated upon seeing the shadow still lingering right there in the flickering fluorescent.

"Bonnie, I am _not_ dealing with your shit tonight," he said, turning the light off again. "Quit wasting my power and _go away_."

A dark chuckle suddenly crowded his thoughts, echoing in his mind like the other voices he heard around here. Was the creature outside the door _mocking_ him?

He turned to the window and shone the flashlight through the filthy glass. Bonnie finally walked away from the door. His head turned towards Mike as he stepped into the view of the window. His jaw lowered, but no sound came out. Bonnie turned his head forward again and kept walking.

_Keep watching it_, came his soft tenor.

"Already on it," Mike replied, dryly.

He listened for the rabbit's retreating footsteps, then turned on the monitor to ensure an empty hallway.

The power dropped from 89% to 88%.

He turned off the monitor upon seeing no change. Mike sat there for a moment, then just breathed as he brought both hands up to his face, rested his elbows on his desk.

"Stay calm," he told himself. "You're doing fine. Just...stay calm."

He took another breath, then got out of his seat. His feet hit the floor with more force than needed. Mike narrowed his eyes at the metal door in front of him, his face suddenly hot. Slight tremors rippled through his skin. His neck throbbed as he clenched his fist and slammed the red door button to release it. The large metal slab groaned as it retreated back into its slot above. Mike forced in a breath, then peered down the hall. He flicked the flashlight down it and glared at the retreating form in the dim lights overhead.

"And _stay away_, you goddamn rabbit!"

A useless request to be certain, but Mike preferred to hold onto the illusion of control. It kept him sane. At least, as sane as he _could_ be on this job.

As he ducked back into the office, his flashlight slid over the drawings on the wall. The happy families and singing animatronics shifted in the light. As the bright beam left the drawings, their colors drained. Mike did a double-take, then moved the flashlight back to the cluster of drawings. He focused the bright beam right on them.

The happy families disappeared. The birthday presents and balloons no longer existed. The animatronics no longer sang or smiled.

Five of the drawings showed dark crayon shadows with white eyes. As he took them in, he realized those drawings each also contained an individual animatronic: Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, Foxy, Puppet. All of them frowned. The young artist attacked the eyes and mouths so hard with black crayon, the paper nearly tore through.

The strange yellow Bonnie sketch remained unchanged save for red and blue streaks now running down its face. He got the implication quite clearly. Of the four remaining drawings, three of them showed a strange dark gray figure, its only defining detail a wide, white smile.

The last picture, however, unsettled him the most.

This one showed a woman in a short blue dress and poorly-rendered heels. In one stick-figure hand, she held what he guessed was a martini glass. She had a black ponytail, green circles for eyes and long lashes. A goldenrod crayon colored in her face. He guessed her identity almost immediately, but what completely sold it was the smiling lips drawn in purple crayon.

_Vanna_.

What did she have to do with this?

Before he could question it further, Mike picked up the sound of padded footsteps and hissing servos. His head snapped to the right. The flashlight moved in time to catch Bonnie walking back his way. The animatronic barely reached the supply closet, but it was still far too close for comfort.

He quickly ducked back into the office.

As Mike listened for Bonnie's footsteps and readied himself to shut the door, he briefly glimpsed the time.

Just after 1am.

He looked out into the hallway to check for Bonnie, and his vision flashed again.

Mike saw the eyes first, stronger now, blue. Red veins pulsed around the sides, like they had been forced out of their sockets. Plush from some kind of mask appeared around the eyes, the color indiscernible, but light. Digital words interspersed in rapid succession, and noise from tonight's call rung in his ears.

Within a few seconds, it stopped. Mike blinked and shook his head to clear his vision. He reached up with his free hand to feel his ears, in a strange assurance that what he just heard was just as much of a hallucination as what he saw before him. Suddenly remembering his task, he flicked the flashlight into the doorway.

No Bonnie.

Across the hall, he witnessed the return of the cheerful families, birthday parties, and smiling animatronics in the drawings. He shot a quick glance down the hall to find it empty, and taking a risk, he turned around to check that hall corner.

The Freddy poster hung in its proper spot, the friendly singing bear urging young guests to party. Silver stars twirled overhead. The only noticeable change was the janitor got around to sweeping up the trash at some point. Mike checked the other side of the hall once more to ensure emptiness, then went back into the office to do a roll call.

Over on the desk, the monitor greeted him with an empty hallway onscreen. Whatever the hell just happened, it needed to take a back seat to his job.

Mike quickly changed the view to Pirate Cove. He only barely caught Foxy at the edge of the camera's sight. The pirate realized he was being watched and turned to look up at the camera. Mike quickly changed the view, but listened for the metal scratching. Chica and Bonnie both returned to the dining room. Freddy remained onstage. Within five seconds, he had them all accounted for.

Mike checked the power gauge. It now read 83%.

"What the _hell!_" he gaped.

He shut the monitor off, then back on again, in case the screen did something weird.

Still 83%.

A quick check of the camera rarely left a blip on the power levels, let alone dropped it by five percentage points. Mike quickly looked to the doors on either side of him. Both of them hung open; he hadn't kept them closed by accident like he did the other night.

Mike hoped for a glitch, but he remembered what Bonnie said, to keep an eye on "it." Foxy said something similar before. He thought they meant the broken animatronic in the back room, but now...

The thought of the other animatronic jogged his mind. Mike quickly flipped to the back room. The silver eyes greeted him, still ovular with the animatronic lying on its back and facing the ceiling. He glanced to the thing's left hand, counted the fingers.

Still five. Still in the same pose as before.

And nothing under the table.

He flipped back to the dining room, where Bonnie and Chica danced together. The power indicator in the lower left corner dropped down to 81%.

"...What are you fuckers up to?" Mike whispered, his tone tense and filled with hate. "What did you _do_?"

He gave a quick glance to the tablecloths, and upon seeing no movement, he turned the monitor off again. They did something to the power, he knew, something that kept causing it to drop rapidly, even with the quickest use of his equipment. He had to preserve it somehow.

Thinking quickly, Mike shut off the fan, then glanced around the room for the switch to the overhead light. Finding none, he looked up and saw a pull chain hanging from it. He hated the thought of a dark office and even _less_ light to see them, but what other choice did he have?

He started to climb on his chair, then heard a change in the atmosphere. Mike held his breath to listen for footsteps, for servos hissing or metal clanking. He heard metallic scratching on smooth tile and felt his heart freeze.

No, he reminded himself. Not tonight. He refused to be afraid of them.

And he knew how to counter _this_ one.

With a small smirk, Mike jumped down from the chair and moved over to the left door. He readied his hand and waited until he heard the first clanking step. Exactly half a second later, he hit the switch, then ducked back out of the way in case his timing failed. The door came down, but the loud _CLANG!_ right before the magnetic locks clicked into place brought him immense satisfaction.

Mike's smirk widened as he listened to the scratching against tile on the other side, the metal _clinks_ and _clanks_, the hiss of ancient servos as the old pirate tried to right himself again.

"That's not how you walk the plank, _captain_."

The loud, furious _screech_ on the other side, followed by an infuriated slam on the door, said enough. Mike let himself laugh and walked back over to the desk. He listened to the shuffling and strange noises as Foxy pulled himself up again. The swivel chair greeted him like a throne of triumph as he turned it to take his seat once more.

Right then, something strong and forceful hit the window. A long _screech_ worse than nails on chalkboard assaulted his ears. In horrified surprise, Mike missed the chair completely. He winced as his ass hit the floor; his back knocked the chair away from him. With a pained hiss, he looked up at the window. Two glowing yellow eyes stared at him. The metal hook etched a long scar into the glass.

Even with his strength, Foxy couldn't pierce through it, but just the sight of the hook and the pointed teeth brought to mind that time in the back room where the frightening animatronic cornered him and his father.

_Ye can't hide forever, matey_.

The next thing Mike saw was a blur of red, followed by the sound of metal footsteps echoing down the hall. He grabbed the desk to pull himself up, then opened the door to save power. He listened for only a few seconds to confirm no one followed up on the pirate's failed attack, then went to gingerly take his seat and turn the monitor back on.

Mike's breath hissed between his teeth. His heart gradually found its natural pace. Without the fan running anymore, the heat crept under his collar, his sleeves. It coaxed out sweat from both the rising temperature and prior panic.

Freddy moved closer to the camera in this time. The sight took Mike off-guard when he stood in Bonnie's spot on the stage. He quickly checked the dining room, and the sight of Bonnie and Chica both still there in their normal routine calmed his nerves. He flipped to 1C, where the purple curtains swayed with residual movement.

Safe for a moment.

Mike quickly checked the back room and investigated the creepy creature with its weird glowing eyes. No change there, fortunately, but he noticed the power levels sunk even lower.

75%.

"How are they _doing_ that?" he whispered.

With Foxy, he understood. His pounding on the door always took out a percentage or two, and slamming into the door probably caused a similar effect. Even so, the door only remained closed for a few seconds during the encounter, not nearly long enough to take the power down eight more percentage points.

He made sure the halls were clear, then shut the monitor off. Mike checked his watch.

1:37am.

At this rate, the rest of the night needed to go _perfectly_ if he wanted to survive.

_Mike…_

He jolted in his seat, not recognizing that voice.

Had he actually heard his name that time? Or was he simply hearing things again?

Mike looked up. He winced when he saw something stare at him through the window.

A purple uniform, a matching security hat with the brim shadowing the eyes, the edge of a gold badge. The face looked different, a little longer than his own, though it may have simply been a distortion of the scratched and dingy glass. As he tried to get a better look, the eyes under the hat's brim glowed red.

Mike let out a startled scream as his legs tangled in the chair. His reflection disappeared with him as he tumbled back onto the floor. His head throbbed when he smacked against the tile, the wind knocked out of him for a moment. When the stars stopped clouding his vision and his breath found him again, Mike forced himself to sit up. One hand massaged the back of his head, the other held him up. When the pain receded, he glanced up to the window.

The red eyes still stared down at him.

And slowly, he picked out more details.

The darkness of the window normally made the hallway pitch black. This time, the red eyes gave a soft light that made only the faintest hint of an outline shine through the filthy glass, with traces of purple fur that almost perfectly blended into the shadows.

Heart and head pounding, Mike pushed himself from the floor, weirdly grateful that in those seconds of pain, the coldness of the tiles cut through his clothes and cooled him down. He gripped the edge of the desk to stabilize himself and pull his body back onto his feet. Once he regained a modicum of balance, he turned back to the window and narrowed his eyes at the creature behind the glass.

Bonnie stayed put and watched him in return. The security guard shot a glance to the door, into the darkness only mere feet from that window, then looked back to the figure in the shadows. Mike carefully shifted his weight on his shaking legs. He tried to ignore the residual pain in the back of his skull. The rabbit was fast, he knew. He needed to be faster.

_I told you to watch it_, came a voice.

Mike _knew_ he heard it that time, a soft tenor underlined with another, indecipherable voice. He hesitated a moment as he tried to banish the residual dizziness and prepare himself to hit that door switch.

"...Get the _hell_ away from me," Mike snarled.

Bonnie simply stared at him, his red eyes aligned with the night guard's. Mike glowered right back. Taking no chances, he launched himself from the desk, his fingers outstretched to slam the door switch. No footsteps accompanied his on the other side. The moment he touched the switch, the metal door slid down to seal away the darkness, now solidly stood between him and the monster. He then went back to the window, where Bonnie still waited for him. The animatronic still stared down at him, the mouth open just slightly.

_Begging_.

Mike hated how it reminded him of his dream.

"What did you do?" he demanded, crossing his arms. "Why is the power draining?"

Bonnie remained quiet and watched him through the glass. Quickly realizing this line of questioning would get him nowhere, Mike tried something else.

"...What do you want?" he asked, relenting a bit.

Bonnie _did_ stay put when he smacked into the floor, completely vulnerable for several seconds. And he remained in that spot while he shut the door. Both instances said enough the animatronic might not have wanted to attack him.

_Yet_.

And at this point, he needed answers.

Several seconds passed. Mike shot a glimpse to the still-glowing monitor, and quickly shut it off to save power. He kept his ears perked for anything coming in behind him. He hated that the right door hung completely open. Mike looked over his shoulder solely to try to pick out movement. He only turned back to the window when he heard that gentle tenor.

_To go home_.

Mike quirked a brow.

"You _are_ home," he said, trying to hide his confusion. "Aren't you?"

Bonnie didn't answer. The rabbit simply made his way back down the hall.


	15. The Yellow Bonnie

_Power source detected._

_Start-up procedure engaged._

_Activating start-up protocol._

_Auto update date and time: 11/12/1993 12:47:22am_

_Character information: unidentified._

_Retrying..._

_Character information: unidentified._

_Retrying…_

_Character information: unavailable._

_Activating watch_learn._

_Activating sound_location._

_Activating facial_recognition._

_Uploading Fredbear__Pizza14062.

_Upload complete._

_Activating…_

_Power source undetected._

_Charge: 15%_

_Auto update date and time: 11/12/1993 03:57:07am_

_Retrying activation_.

_Activating_…

* * *

**Friday, November 12, 1993**

A metal crashing sound caught his attention. Mike turned away again, just long enough to make sure the right hallway remained clear. As the noise continued, he took it for Chica banging around in the kitchen again. When he turned back to the left window, only the dingy glass looked back at him.

He listened for Bonnie's retreating footsteps, then quickly turned the monitor back on. After ensuring the rabbit cleared the hallway, he checked Foxy and shut it off again, then ran over to hit the left door switch. Once the door lifted, Mike carefully peered out at the few emergency lights that marked the start of the dining room. He saw Bonnie's large form turn into the main room.

"...The hell was _that_ about?"

On a hunch, he ran the flashlight over the drawings across from him. All ten of them changed again, no longer even pictures anymore. Now, each one formed a red-crayoned letter, written in a child's shaky scrawl:

SmiLiNG mAN

Faintly, Mike heard chimes down the hall and flicked the flashlight down it. He half-expected to see Foxy barreling toward him, but for a second, the entire hallway lit up.

The speckled gray walls suddenly looked lighter, newer, dotted with colorful confetti. The black and white tile stripes that split the walls in half turned purple and a weird blue-green that matched the present box in the dining room. Silver stars hung in a garland above, and the drawings disappeared to show posters he barely glimpsed. To the right, he saw openings and bathroom signs. At the very end, he saw a door.

The vision disappeared in a flash. Mike stared at the emergency lights at the end of the hall where Bonnie liked to linger. The musical chimes still rung in his ears, faint, the tune indecipherable. In the corner of his eye, the drawings returned to normal again. At the end of the hall, he swore he saw a pair of yellow eyes flicker, an old jaw open wider to expose sharp teeth.

Mike ducked back into the office. His hand shakily hovered over the door switch while he waited for Foxy to charge at him.

He heard no scratching sound on the tiles.

As he waited - and kept an ear out for the noise still marking Chica's location in the kitchen - Mike tried to process what he just saw: a different hallway, a different place.

_That_ place.

The changing drawings also spoke to him. The sad animatronics with the strange shadows, the weird gray figure he guessed represented the "smiling man," the crying, bleeding yellow Bonnie...and Vanna.

Mike thought of the stories, of the rumors of missing children. Five of them, if he recalled correctly, and the drawings depicted five animatronics with ghostly shadows. Then what about the yellow Bonnie? Where did that fit into the puzzle? What about Vanna? And was the smiling man-?

The kitchen clamoring stopped and forced him to direct his thoughts and attention back to his job. Before Mike took two steps to investigate the other door, a different sound caught his ears: a deep, rich laugh that echoed throughout the building. Mike groaned, not needing the cameras to know it originated in the dining room.

"Great. His Royal Highness left his throne."

He quickly went back to the monitor and turned it on. After a quick glance to ensure Foxy still paced the Cove, and a few seconds of tense silence before the clattering in the kitchen resumed, Mike turned the camera back to the dining room and glanced at the power levels.

62%. A glance at the time showed it was just after 2am.

With a grimace, he turned the monitor off, then remembered what he attempted to do before he heard Foxy scratching on the tiles. Time to keep the flashlight at the ready, because his only miracle would come in darkness.

Mike carefully balanced on his swivel chair to reach the pull chain. He gripped it tightly and closed his eyes as he yanked it down. The darkness overcame him quickly. The normal buzzing from the old bulb turned into a faint jarring demon voice. Mike opened his eyes to another pair staring back at him: blue, pulsing, watching him from behind a mask. The words darted around his vision, robotic and jittery, but this time, he picked something out.

_I...m…it...m_…

Mike felt the chair shift under him. With immense care and stiff, pained movements, he crouched down into the seat and curled his body in to prevent himself from falling and smacking into the floor again. The strange vision followed him. Closing his eyes and covering his ears did nothing.

_M...It...s_...

It stopped. Mike opened his eyes to darkness. His vision adjusted enough now to pick out the edges of the monitor stacks, the cupcake toy, some of the wall decorations. Slowly, he uncovered his ears. No more fan, no more buzzing light, not even footsteps getting too close. Only the building settling, the faint drafts that occasionally passed through and gave a few seconds' relief from the heat, and his own blood thrashing against his ears.

Mike reached up to undo his tie. He yanked the thin cloth from his neck to throw on the desk. His hat joined it not long after, granting him even a little relief.

Three times.

Three times, he saw that weird...hallucination. And the message…"it's me"?

He glanced at his watch. At 2:16am and barely over half the power, he had no time to think about it.

Mike uncurled himself to sit properly in his chair, then pulled himself up to the desk. He felt for the monitor in front of him, ready to watch his eyes as best he could and dim the brightness if possible.

Now to find where that overgrown teddy bear decided to hide tonight, and to be quicker than usual about it.

Mike looked to the shadows on the screen for the usual pinpricks that often provided his only clue to Freddy's location. He saw Bonnie wander the dining room again, in the strange choreography he performed with Chica, whether his partner-in-crime joined him or not. Mike looked for the pinprick eyes, even Freddy's outline as his eyes better adjusted. He took a second to check on Foxy, then flipped through the views to look for Chica. He found her by the bathrooms, once more staring in the direction of the hole in the wall. Mike shut off the monitor for a moment to conserve a bit more power, then flipped it back on before too much time could pass.

With the other three accounted for, he switched back to the dining room camera to look for Freddy. That deep chuckle echoed through the restaurant again. With sweat pouring down his forehead and under his collar, Mike went back over to the bathrooms, where Freddy usually went next, but now he saw nothing: no shadows in the doorways, no outline just out of sight, no glowing eyes...had he missed something?

"Or he changed his pattern," Mike muttered, recognizing the tactic from Bonnie and Chica. Hell, even Foxy did it tonight with his camera scare.

He flipped back to the dining room, where Chica now joined Bonnie in their weird dining room dance. Still no sign of Freddy...until he barely caught a large form moving to the right from the camera's angle.

"...Of _course_," Mike grimaced. "Had to tempt fate, didn't you, Schmidt?"

He flipped the camera to the backstage, and sure enough, he caught Freddy's outline in the doorway, the familiar top hat and ears up against the open door.

Freddy looked straight into the camera...and was he _grinning_ more than usual?

"Don't you _fucking_ _dare_," Mike growled. His patience with them ran down as quickly as the power.

He looked down at the broken animatronic still quietly resting on the table. Freddy's large body blocked some of the stage light, and in turn, the weird suit's silver eyes no longer glowed. Well, one good thing to come from Freddy being there, the thing looked less creepy.

Mike watched him. The bear just stood there, grinning, his eyes glowing as they often did at night. Mike had to get Freddy away from there, but how? If he kept the camera on this view, he risked exposure to the others. But if Freddy knew something about that animatronic...could he afford to let him get close to it?

Fuck, what to do?

Mike changed the view to check on Foxy again, then flipped back to Cam 5 to prioritize Freddy. This time, he noticed the bear pointing to the yellow Bonnie with his microphone.

"I know," Mike said, narrowing his eyes. "You wanted me to find it. Mind telling me why?"

Before Freddy could answer, something clicked behind him, like a ratchet quietly being adjusted. Padded footsteps accompanied the sound, along with what sounded like singing, too far away to properly make out the words. Mike changed the view in time to catch Chica heading down the right hallway. He shut the monitor off and quickly moved by the right door switch. He blindly felt around in the dark for the door frame as he reached for his flashlight. The cool metal under his fingers relieved some of the stuffy office air, as did the open hallway once he got there.

Mike found the flashlight and listened closely as the animatronic crept closer. After fumbling for a second, he clicked it on and shone it down the long hallway.

Chica approached him. Her bulky yellow body took up a good portion of the hallway; her "LET'S EAT!" bib provided a good target to watch as she came closer. Chica's beak clicked up and down. Even from here, Mike noticed her endoskeleton teeth glistening in the back of her mouth. As she got closer, he picked out some of the words she sang.

..._old and sometimes new_  
_We keep the ones we find are true_

Mike perked up. He recognized it almost immediately as one of the songs they sang during the day. And one, if he thought about, he could probably sing along to.

_Sometimes found and sometimes lost_

_The greatest ones are worth the cost_

He waited until she reached the window, then hit the door switch. Chica stopped singing. A cheerful, high-pitched giggle filled his mind. It lacked any malice or ill-intent; just a normal laugh like she sometimes did onstage. Mike almost _wished_ for intended creepiness. The innocence of her laughter and the gentle knocking on the door disconcerted him more than any vindictiveness would have.

Her footsteps shifted, and a few raps on the glass got his attention. Mike walked up to the window, the flashlight aimed up to see her. Chica stared down at him with her large purple eyes, her beak wide open in her version of a grin. She pressed her free hand up against the glass, then held Dulcie up to peer inside.

_We all share the memories made_

_And hope they last and never fade_

Mike looked to the window. He watched as her beak clicked in time to the words, how her purple eyes took in his every move. Despite her upbeat singing, every note unnerved him more than the last.

"Stop it," he whispered.

She ignored him and finished the verse.

_I am yours, and you are mine_

_Friends until the end of time_

Mike narrowed his eyes and remembered the promise he made to himself. Ignore it, and give her nothing.

"Unless you want to tell me why I'm here," je said, "there's no point in standing there."

He heard her laugh again.

_But I _did_, Mikey_.

Chica shot him one last glance before she stepped away from the window.

_You'll understand. I promise_.

Almost as soon as she left, he picked up the sound of something metal scratching against tile. A second later, the scratching became footsteps.

Familiar metallic footsteps, moving at a brisk pace.

_Shit_.

Mike dove to the other side of the room. His fist slammed down on the door button just as he caught a red flash in the window. The loud metallic _CRASH!_ and subsequent slams against the metal door sent his heart into a crazy drum solo. The thought of how close he came to death flooded his mind. His fingers tightened around the flashlight.

_It's a losin' battle, mate,_ Foxy told him. _Before th' morn, ye'll be out of there_.

Mike ignored the voice, just stared at the door, trying to catch and re-regulate his breath.

Don't get cocky. Don't let them get too close.

He turned around and aimed the flashlight at the monitor on his desk. It dawned on him that he hadn't checked it in several minutes. Upon that realization, Mike ran over and turned it on. His eyes immediately went to the lower left corner.

43%.

And according to his watch, he still had over half the night to go.

Mike quickly flipped through the views to do a roll call. Bonnie and Chica walked their fluid dance around the tables in the dining room. The curtains at Pirate Cove fluttered shut, almost mocking him. He didn't see Freddy, but he opened the doors anyway with brief hope that the bear was still far away from him. He needed every scrap of power he could salvage right now.

Just as the second door slid back up into place, Mike heard that deep laughter again. It irritated him more each time he heard it.

"What did you do, you bastard?" he whispered, trying to locate him.

Mike changed the view to Cam 5 to investigate the backstage room, where he last saw the animatronic bear. Empty, save for the strange suit. It looked the same as it had all night, with not a single part out of place.

"Don't you fuck with me, Freddy," Mike scowled.

He flipped back to the dining room. This time, he found the bear's eyes. The tiny pinpricks glimmered across the room, sometimes blocked by Bonnie or Chica walking by. Mike imagined Freddy still wore the same devious smile he saw in the backstage area. He did a quick check on Foxy and the power gauge - 41% - then shut off the monitor.

Every part of him, every sense, stood on edge. Tonight, more than any night this last week, demanded his perfection. And tonight more than any night required further risks. He steadied his nerves, then went to the left door. Mike carefully peeked out to shine the flashlight down the hall. So far, nothing, though he saw Bonnie's back far ahead in the dining room, and he guessed the rabbit headed backstage.

A check to Pirate Cove showed Foxy seemed content with his stage right now, though Mike noticed his snout was bent, and the red glove on one arm threatened to fall off. He smirked a bit. Maybe after running into the door twice tonight, the old pirate might actually leave him alone for a bit.

Freddy's laughter rang again, still on the far side of the building. Mike grimaced and on a hunch, checked the back room. Once more, he found Freddy back there, staring up at him through the camera. He got the impression of a child testing his boundaries.

_I'm thinking it_, Freddy seemed to say, _and you can't stop me._

Mike flipped back to Foxy as insurance, then shut off the monitor. After pondering for a minute, he took a deep breath, then ran over to the left door and shone the flashlight down the hall.

"Hey, Fazfuck!" he screamed. "Get your ass down here!"

Mike waited a second, then saw Bonnie's figure now coming for him - hadn't he gone backstage? - but as he hoped, he heard Freddy's laugh clearly from the dining room.

"Yeah, that's right, you coward! Come get me!"

He quickly ducked back and waited until the last possible second to shut the door. He then checked the camera to ensure Bonnie stayed out, and as he hoped, he saw Freddy's pinprick eyes in the dining room, right where the camera cut off just shy of the prize counter. Mike shut it off again, then moved to the right door.

"What, still not coming?"

_This is suicide_, he thought. _You're running out of power, and Freddy's the one you _really _don't want getting too close._

Another thought quickly countered that one.

_Better to keep him occupied than to have five of these tin cans walking around_.

The laughter came closer. Mike let out a small breath of relief as he ducked back into the office. Never in his life did he ever think getting Freddy closer to his door would be a _good_ thing, but all that mattered to him was getting out of this alive. Fewer enemies meant a longer lifespan...and possibly a little more power.

Mike flicked on his flashlight and took a quick risk to check the right hallway. After finding it empty, he dashed to the other side of the room to make sure the left hallway was clear too before opening the door.

Safe for a moment. Mike turned on the monitor just long enough to keep Foxy back, then collapsed into his seat. Locking the door brought the power down to 34%, and a glance at his watch read 3:02am. In his precious moment of safety, he better registered the increasing heat in his office.

The hallways on either side remained silent, with no padded or metal feet hitting the tiled floors. Part of him missed the fan and the buzzing light, but without them, Mike better heard the animatronics shifting and moving with ease beyond their capabilities. He even swore he heard Bonnie and Chica wandering around the dining room.

He gave himself a moment, then turned the monitor back on. Foxy glared up at him from behind his bent snout. Mike smirked and checked for the other three. Only Freddy occupied the dining room now. A flip to the back room showed the strange yellow Bonnie still hadn't moved, though another animatronic joined him, the form in shadow as it wandered toward the camera. Mike expected Bonnie, but saw no tall ears. With Foxy and Freddy accounted for, he quickly deduced her identity.

What was _Chica_ doing back there?

She turned to the side and bent down to examine the animatronic on the table, the outline of her cupcake barely visible. In his mind, Mike heard her singing again.

_Sometimes old and sometimes new_  
_We keep the ones we find are true_

He held the dial in his hand to change the camera view, but something kept his fingers still. Mike watched as she gently touched the broken animatronic's arm. Chica ran her fingers over it like a mother would her sleeping child. The weird yellow Bonnie stayed in place as it had all night, silent and unmoving, but Chica paid it no notice.

_Sometimes found and sometimes lost_

_The greatest ones are worth the cost_

She let go of its arm and stood up straight once more. Slowly, her head turned toward the camera. The outside light glinted off her purple eyes, before they darkened, white pinpricks now shining from the back of the endoskeleton. Slowly, her beak moved up and down with her sweet, haunting voice.

_Isn't that right, Mikey?_

Mike winced, but like before, nothing in her tone indicated malice, rather...sorrow. Like she pitied him.

Chica turned to leave the room. Mike finally changed the camera view.

A check to Foxy, who threatened to run again. Freddy's laughter forced him to locate him. After a few seconds, Mike found him at the bathrooms. He shut off the monitor. If Bonnie wasn't in the back room or the dining room, he was probably heading his way again.

Not wanting to waste power, Mike clicked on the flashlight and checked the left door. Upon finding it empty, he carefully peered out into the hallway. His hand trembled in time to his pounding heart.

Nothing.

Not even the drawings across from him looked out of place.

Mike stepped back into the office, then glanced to the monitor. He started to hit the power button to turn it on, when his spine chilled, and with it, a horrible thought jumped into his mind.

Chica went where Bonnie normally went. Bonnie wasn't in his usual places. So maybe…

He shone the flashlight up into the window and caught a bit of movement. Mike ran towards the right door, the flashlight now aimed out into the hallway.

"_NO!_"

The red bowtie came into view first, then his lavender stomach. Mike aimed the flashlight up into the animatronic's face, at the red eyes that stared back at him, at the jaw that hung open and exposed round white teeth. The other night flashed in his mind. Mike's throat ached with pain. He remembered the cold tile on his back and legs, the strength Bonnie exerted to drag him, that horrible pungence that lingered on his suit.

"You won't-not again! I w-won't fucking _let you_!"

Mike dove to the side to hit the door switch, then scrambled away from the frame, back into the corner of the tiny office. Bonnie reached inside to grab him, but the door came down and forced the animatronic to pull back lest it smash off its hand. The door clicked into place, keeping the night guard safe for the moment. Mike stayed in his corner, curled up and aware of _just_ how much power this would use.

He wasn't going to make it tonight.

If Bonnie didn't leave soon, that door would open on its own anyway when the power inevitably ran out - and even _if_ he left, how much longer could he fend off the others before the surety of his doom?

Mike dropped the flashlight and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook as he fought back tears and tried to let his mind go mercifully blank. To not think of the horrible fate that awaited him like the man on the phone.

Like _him_.

They planned this somehow, he knew, found a way to drain his power. They even mockingly warned him of their plan. Mike bit his lip and tried not to think of his looming fate, of what Waylon Kent and the janitor would find tomorrow morning. Of whether or not Moira would find out.

Why would she, when he told her nothing of his new job and ignored her calls? Why would she, when none of them knew the truth of what happened before?

Mike wiped his eyes and forced himself to breathe. More importantly...what about Vanna?

...Vanna…

Mike recalled the weird picture on the wall. Like her photograph before, the thought of the drawing gave him hope. Maybe...maybe she was his bargaining chip.

That she had something to do with the children, the strange suit, and the smiling man.

Why else would her picture be included?

Using the wall behind him for support, he pushed himself up. Mike forced in another breath and pressed his back against the closed door until his legs no longer threatened to buckle underneath him.

_I still have a chance_, he told himself.

A slim one, but a chance, nonetheless.

The flashlight beam shone across the black and white tiles. And in the beam, it lit up something that hadn't been there before.

Paper, old and brittle, but the crayon marks on it looked...oddly _new_. Mike carefully approached it and bent down to pick it up, along with the fallen flashlight. He even caught the faint smell of fresh wax as he examined this new drawing.

The broken Bonnie, drawn in golden crayon, was whole again, with green circles for eyes and two purple triangles made into a bowtie. Unlike the other animatronics before, this one smiled. Beside the golden Bonnie stood a stick figure man. His hat, purple shirt, and yellow circle on his chest marked him as a security guard. Two black circles marked his eyes, with blue streaks down his face. It held no other features, not even a frowning mouth. Mike hated how it reminded him of the Puppet, and even more...he hated how the drawing panged his chest.

He set the drawing on his desk, unable to focus on it right now. Mike turned on the monitor, not bothering to take his seat. From watching Chica to locking Bonnie out, the power since dropped down to 15%. With Bonnie still lingering on the other side, it visibly dropped down to 13% while he checked the other rooms.

Freddy poked out of the girls' bathroom. Chica wandered in front of the dining room camera. A flick of the flashlight into the right window showed part of a purple shoulder just barely in sight. Mike quickly went back to the monitor, knowing to turn it off and give himself a few minutes to plan.

A shadow came down over the monitor. Mike quickly turned around to see nothing but the back wall of the office and parts of the tile floor. He turned back to the monitor, wanting to dismiss it as nothing, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was no longer alone.

Paranoia made him turn around again. Once more, he found nothing. Mike then remembered how his wallet dropped and made a quick glance to the ceiling. He reached for his flashlight and aimed it above him, running the beam over the ceiling tiles.

Still in place. No movement, no skittering noises above him.

Mike then thrust the beam under his desk. The light revealed nothing but dust, trash, and the cigarette butt he kicked under there the other night. He held his breath, listened for movement, and on a hunch, shot the flashlight into the left hallway.

No one there.

He crept over to the left door and carefully peered out. His eyes met a pair of gold ones, followed not long by the sound of scratching feet.

Mike ducked back into the office and hit the door switch. For the final time tonight, he kept Foxy at bay, listened with dread at the familiar bangs.

Trapped, he knew. Those doors wouldn't hold much longer.

Mike hesitantly took his seat again to check the current camera view and the power.

2%, 3:54am, and nothing but the dining room, now with two creepy animatronics weaving between the tables. Nothing but them and...a reflection.

A reflection of a smiling face with empty eyes.

Mike kicked the chair around and quickly aimed the flashlight at the intruder. His heart jolted at the sight. How the _fuck_-?!

The Puppet stood tall at nearly six feet, its white face angled down towards the floor. Light from the monitor reflected off its mask and large white buttons. Its long arms hung at its sides, its fingers still. It hovered over him, the striped stumps forming its feet dangling just above the floor. Mike glanced to its wrists, its neck.

Even in the flashlight beam, the dim monitor glow, he saw that no strings held it up.

Mike suddenly noticed the chill that now spread through the room. He struggled to find his voice; his neck throbbed at the thought of speaking. His eyes met the Puppet's dark, empty sockets. The creature hung before him, silent and still.

"Wh-why…?" he managed. "How…?"

On either side, both doors opened once more, having taken their final dregs of power. The monitor behind him shut off. A gentle hum hung in the air as the building powered down.

The Puppet tilted its mask down to face him. From the depths of its eyes, two pinpricks shone and narrowed in on the night guard. At long last, it spoke. Its voice rang in his mind like the others'. Something about it set him on edge. It held an ethereal quality beyond the strange haunted tones of its brethren.

_Did you not ask for my help?_


	16. Strings

_**Friday, July 13, 1973**_

_An announcement rang overhead to head for the prize counter, where another Fazbear surprise waited for a lucky guest. Mike jolted a bit at the announcement, but remained where he was. If anything, playing with the clown inside the present box a few moments ago gave him a front row seat._

_A small crowd started to gather around. Mike tightly clung to his mother's hand as several other children gathered around them. The blond employee and a waitress helped to form a small semi-circle around the strange green-blue present box with its purple ribbon. The blond man looked over the crowd, particularly the children._

"_Wow, there sure are a lot of you! Are you ready for the surprise?"_

_Several children, Mike included, cheered with a loud, "YES!"_

"_Awesome!"_

_The blond man looked over the crowd again._

"_We have one more friend to introduce," he said, patting the top of the box, "and one more game to play. Now, normally, our friend will know which is the birthday child for a special Freddy's present, but since this is the first time we're doing this here at Freddy Fazbear's, and there are no scheduled birthdays today, we're going to let it pick out a special guest."_

_All eyes went to the box. Excited chitters wove through the crowd as each child hoped that they would be the special guest. The man stepped aside and reached into his polo pocket for a small remote with a large red button._

"_And now," he said, "without further adieu, let's give a warm welcome to the Puppet!"_

_A music box tune played as top of the box opened. Two large flaps lifted up to reveal the box's secret._

All around the cobbler's bench  
The monkey chased the weasel  
The monkey thought t'was all in fun...

_Mike and the other children watched with curious anticipation, and soon enough..._something _came out of the box._

_A large, black cross rose on the clear, nearly-invisible string, with darker strings hanging underneath it. Tied to those strings was a thin form in a black costume. Three large white buttons adorned its chest. Its forearms bore black and white stripes. The new character's head hung down over its chest. The cross lifted it up to its waist, then the strings slacked, leaving the Puppet in place as the cross lifted until it nearly touched the ceiling._

_Mike watched the strange clown-like being, and took a careful step forward to get a better look._

_The marionette lifted its face to show its dark eyes, its smile, the colorful circles on its cheeks and purple streaks down its face. Soft blue lights glowed from the back of its sockets to give it a warmer appearance. It lifted its long arms up in celebration._

Pop! Goes the weasel!

_On either side of the strange marionette, small bursts of confetti shot out from inside the box. All around them, children gasped and cheered, excited to finally see what the box contained. The sudden noise and bits of colorful paper took Mike by surprise. He stepped back and felt his mother grip his shoulder as he now fully took in this new character._

_Mike saw nothing wrong with its thin form, its dark costume, or even the strange markings on its face. His eyes were immediately drawn to its glowing eyes from when it played with him. Its strange blue gaze, its smile, the few spots of cheerful color all drew him to shift himself from his mother's grip to step closer and greet this new friend._

_The Puppet leaned down out of its box. It tilted its head as it looked over the crowd. Many of the children started screaming at once._

"_Pick me! Pick me!"_

"_No, me! Pick me, Puppet!"_

_"Puppet, over here!"_

_The Puppet remained silent as it gripped the edge of its box. Its mask turned back and forth as it studied the crowd...until it found Mike._

_Its eyes briefly flickered white, before going back to blue._

_The Puppet gestured with its long fingers for Mike to come forward. Mike nervously looked to the side, then pointed to himself. The Puppet nodded, and gestured again. This time, Mike obeyed, hesitant and curious. He looked up at the Puppet when he got in front of the box. It reached a hand out. Mike winced and stepped back. The Puppet watched him, then tried again, slower this time. Mike watched its hand, and eased when it gave him a gentle pat on the head. It then held up a finger, a universal gesture to wait._

_Slowly, the Puppet dipped down back into the box. A few shuffling sounds echoed from inside, like it searched for something. It peeked over the top of the box a moment later, like a child playing hide and seek. It then slipped back inside and continued its search for a few more seconds._

_The second time it reemerged, its head rose, then its shoulders and chest, until the audience saw it now held something in its hands - a gift wrapped in shiny purple wrapping paper and a large green ribbon. The Puppet kept rising on its strings, until it came out of the box completely. Its long legs matched its arms, with white stripes around its calves. It had no feet, only rounded stumps at the end._

_The wooden cross stayed close to the ceiling, but moved forward. The Puppet still hung in the air. The black strings on its head and wrists lowered until the tips of its legs touched the ground. At its full height, it towered over even most of the adults in the room, yet its thin body made it appear smaller. Gasps and cheers filled the room, but the Puppet paid them no heed. It glanced down to Mike, still clutching the gift. Its dark strings lowered it to the floor until the marionette knelt down in front of him. The Puppet leaned forward to better match his height. Mike stepped back again. He once more felt his mother's hands on his shoulders._

_The Puppet tilted its head as it watched him. Gently, it offered the gift in its hands to its young guest. It held it just close enough for Mike to reach out and take it. Charlotte moved a hand to her son's back and gently urged him forward._

_Mike hesitated at first, not used to a display like this. Once more, he felt that strange warmth from when he played with it before, the gentle sensation that the creature before him meant no harm. He stepped forward then, and reached to take the gift. His hands touched the marionette's thin fingers._

_The moment they connected, something overcame him. All around him, the voices of the other children, the music and bright colors, even his mother faded into the back of his mind. Only he and the Puppet still existed. His eyes met the creature's. They flashed once. The blue LED lights turned white from the back of the mask. A figure took its place for half a second, something small and indiscernible._

_The Puppet's form returned. The warmth drained into sorrow with a strange sense of understanding._

_That the gift he clutched in his hands now held more importance than whatever it contained inside._

_The moment passed as quickly as it came. Time resumed. The world came back to life. Once more, Mike heard the laughter, the music, and saw the bright colors. The Puppet let go of the gift and slipped its fingers out from under his hands. Its long arms gently hung at its sides. Mike stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to make of what just happened, what he just saw and felt._

_After a moment, Mike gently set the gift down and walked up to the Puppet. He reached up to hug it around the neck. He felt the hard metal casing underneath its costume, even as he rested his head on its shoulder. The gentle humming of its servos sounded almost like a heartbeat, the casing comfortably warm. The animatronic hung still in its strings for a moment before it slowly returned the gesture. Mike felt a thin hand on his back, the long fingers running down his spine, its other hand over his shoulder. He felt its head shift as its mask rested against his dark hair._

_Mike let go of the Puppet after a time, then slipped out of its long arms to retrieve the purple-papered gift._

_The blond employee since turned to address the other children, explaining something about the next event and a table full of goodie bags for the rest of their first guests. Mike barely heard a word he said as he looked over the present in his hands, at the shiny purple wrapping paper and bright green ribbon. He examined the box like a precious treasure, and after a moment, finally pulled at the ribbon to loosen it. The wrapping paper joined it not long after._

_Inside the box was a plush Freddy toy in his top hat, bowtie, and microphone. With a delighted squee, Mike pulled it out of the box and held it close, more than content to have the toy in lieu of the real thing. He turned around to look at the Puppet again, only to see it was no longer there._

_A look at the large present box showed the marionette lowering itself back into its little home, everything below its waist now submerged into the blue-green box. Mike ran over to it and gripped the edge of the box with one hand while clutching his prize in the other. He stood on his toes to keep his eyes aligned with the Puppet's as it sank lower into the box._

"_Thank you."_

_The Puppet's eyes never left his. In the depths of its mask, they flickered once, white, so quickly, he wasn't certain he caught it._

You're welcome_, came the response_.

_It tilted its head down again. The wooden cross came down. Mike let go of the edge of the box so it could settle above the Puppet without scraping his fingers. The two top flaps lifted up again, then tilted towards each other until the top closed, creating a closed present once again_.

* * *

**Friday, November 12, 1993**

Mike stared at the creature before him. He swallowed to try to moisten the sudden dryness in his throat, then nodded to the Puppet.

He _did_ ask for help right before he started his shift, didn't he?

The Puppet remained in place, floating just above the floor. Its hands dangled beside it like a hangman's.

At the thought, Mike winced and reached up to loosen his tie. Upon remembering he already took it off, he changed the motion to undo the top button of his shirt. He just needed to relieve the sudden tightness in his throat. Mike then ran his fingers over the bruise, his still-warm fingers oddly soothing against the pained flesh. He firmly planted his feet on the floor to gain a sense of grounding, then slowly put his hands in his lap, the flashlight beam aimed at the Puppet.

It remained still, its mask staring down at Mike, its white buttons reflecting the light.

The creature watched him, the hollow eyes in its mask aligned with his own. Mike shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He _loathed_ how it stared at him, the dark eyes unable to blink, the mouth forever frozen in an open smile. The Puppet remained still, its eyes and mouth still hollow and empty, but something about it seemed...pleased? Like an aura surrounded it, just strong enough to be acknowledged.

The room suddenly felt smaller. Mike clung to the flashlight for dear life. He shot glances to the open doors on either side of him, a sense of vulnerability overcoming him. A shine of the bright beam out into each hallway showed them both empty, with nothing lurking in the windows.

That he could see, anyway.

He turned back to the Puppet, still discomforted by its stare.

"Will the others…?"

The Puppet slowly shook its head in response. It tilted its head as it curiously looking him over. Mike watched it, but kept listening to the open doors, for clicks or whirs or the humming of servos. Only silence greeted him, as if even the very building stopped trying to settle in for the night.

He had no choice but to trust the creature before him to keep its word.

"...Why are you here?" he whispered after a moment.

Mike kept the flashlight on it. The Puppet hung in silence for several minutes, giving Mike the impression it was thinking. Slowly, the glimmers of light appeared in its eyes, cutting through the hollow shadows as they narrowed in on the night guard.

_You called for me_.

For the first time, part of its body aside from its head began to move. Its head and torso remained in place, but its legs bent up and twisted like a pretzel, until it floated crossed-legged in front of him. Mike watched in awe. He wondered how it kept itself in midair without any strings. The Puppet then lowered itself until it matched Mike's level. It sat in midair before of the night guard, its mask aligned with his face.

Mike briefly recalled when he first saw the Puppet as a child, how it took in his discomfort and carefully allayed his fears before handing him the gift. Now it got right into it, with no pretense of its intentions.

The creature lingered in silence for another moment before it finally moved again. It lifted its hands and held them up to its chest, its fingers spread toward him almost in an offering. In the flashlight's glow, Mike watched as two threads snaked out of the Puppet's wrists. The tendrils shifted and wound through its long fingers, completely under the creature's control.

He carefully inched his chair back.

_Do not be afraid_.

The Puppet's eyes flickered, its pupils dim, but still there. The strings remained contained around its hands, tangled and changing. Its gaze never left Mike's.

_This is what I see_.

"...Strings?" Mike asked as he watched the shifting threads.

_Yes. It is important that you understand this_.

The threads continued to dance in the Puppet's fingers.

_Strings grow,_ it said. _They tangle. They _break. _But most importantly_…

The strings straightened for a moment, then formed into perfect spirals around the Puppet's long fingers

_...They can be untangled. And they can be followed_.

The Puppet tilted its mask. Mike's blood chilled. With how the empty stare focused in on him, he imagined the creature saw beyond his physical body and straight into the depths of his soul. He crossed his arms over his chest to try to banish the sudden cold surrounding him.

_I see the strings tied to you_.

Mike winced. He lifted his hand up into the light. He twisted his wrist a few times and flexed his fingers, but saw nothing there.

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking back at the Puppet.

The creature kept it hands in its lap. It sat quietly like a child listening to a story. Mike noticed it didn't even bob as it hung in the air, its body still as a photograph. The Puppet glanced down at its own hands. The threads no longer remained in their perfect spirals, but wove and tangled like they did before.

..._I see them_, it said at last. _Little threads that tie and bind, connecting one thing to another_.

It looked back up at him, its eyes dark and empty once more.

_I saw them when you first arrived four nights ago. I saw them lead into the hidden room. I see them now, all around you. And as each night passes, they grow stronger_. _Brighter_.

Mike watched the threads dance for a moment, then untwist themselves. The motion strangely calmed him as the strings continued their dance between the Puppet's fingers.

"Then that suit..." he said, trying to piece it together. "Does it have anything to do with me?"

The Puppet nodded in response.

"What, then?" Mike asked.

_It holds significance to you_.

"How?" Mike asked, a little confused. "I only saw that thing once, about…"

He paused, mentally turning back the clock.

"...Ten years ago."

_I remember_.

The Puppet remained still, its eyes and mouth hollow and empty, yet like moments before, it radiated a faint, pleased aura.

_No one saw me peeking from my box that day. The rules kept me inside. But I saw everything_.

Its demeanor veered, the warm, almost friendly aura now growing heavier.

_I wanted to help him. I _tried_. But all I could do was watch._

The purple tear streaks shifted in the flashlight's glow, the effect so subtle, Mike easily took it for a trick of light. But even for a moment...he swore the creature cried.

_You saved him_.

Mike moved his hand to his now-throbbing right arm, and slowly looked away from the Puppet. He tried to soothe the sudden remembered pain. His only saving grace that day had been that the bite only snapped his bones instead of outright destroying them.

Three long, dark fingers gently caressed his cheek. Mike looked up. The Puppet's mask leaned closer.

_I told you before that I remembered you_. _You are a protector of children_. It tilted its head. _Why else do you think we let you come back?_

Mike pulled away from it, taken aback by what it just said.

"You 'let me' come back?"

The Puppet reciprocated his wishes and retracted its hand. Mike briefly noticed it no longer played with its strings, that it retracted them at some point. The marionette simply gave him another nod.

"Then what about the other guards?" Mike asked.

He quickly glanced to the open doors on either side. His heart pounded again. The flashlight shook in his hand. Mike ran the beam over the doors, once again finding them empty. Nothing peeked in the windows, and he saw not even a scrap of old plush or a glimmer of an animatronic eye. Mike swallowed hard, then faced the Puppet again. Its mask looked down at its lap, and once more, it played with its strings.

"Wh-what did you do to them?" he choked out. "What...what happened to the guy on the phone?"

_They could not hear us,_ the Puppet said. _They could not understand_.

Mike narrowed his eyes.

"That's _not_ what I asked!"

_I am aware_.

The Puppet looked up at him.

_It is not important_.

"The _hell_ it isn't!" Mike screamed, jumping up from his seat.

The Puppet's mask tilted up to keep him in its view. The night guard didn't care. He reached out to grab the marionette, his fingers aimed for its throat.

"You _murdered_ them! You guys hunt us down, then stuff us in those _fucking suits_!"

Something long and thin grabbed his wrist, then pulled it away. Mike stumbled forward. He fell down on one knee while his arm remained suspended in the air. He aimed the flashlight up to see what ensnared him. A long, black thread wrapped around his wrist. Tracing it showed it pulled taut, then curved, the end of it controlled in the Puppet's hand.

_Please_.

It released him. The thread retracted back into its wrist. The Puppet then gestured to the chair to offer him a seat. Mike glared at it. He trembled with anger, but remained on one knee.

_Listen_.

"Why?" Mike asked.

He stood up and shone the flashlight on the Puppet. Mike tried to steady his shaking hand.

"Is this your plan? Tell me what you want me to know, and then let them murder me?"

The Puppet shook its head.

_We will not harm you_.

"Then why the _hell_ are they _still_ coming after me?"

The marionette gave another gesture to the chair. Mike remained standing, then ran a quick check of the open doors and the windows for anything to wander into his flashlight beam.

Nothing but empty halls.

_You have noticed that we are not simply machines_.

Mike turned back to the Puppet, his eyes narrowed. The flashlight shone on it once more.

_We think_, the Puppet continued. _We feel. We _remember.

Mike fought the tremors that ran through his body. Even so, his face softened in worried curiosity.

"...Remember _what_, exactly?" he asked.

_Loneliness,_ it answered, dropping its gaze. _Pain. How we _screamed_, and _cried_, and no one heard us_.

It went quiet, then lifted its mask back up to face Mike. The pinprick eyes glowed once more.

_No one but the Smiling Man_.

Those last two words sent chilled dread throughout Mike's body. He remembered those very words written in a child's scrawl, the strange gray figure in numerous drawings to accompany them.

SmiILiNG mAN

The creature's eyes shifted subtly, as did its demeanor: warm again, but not the content, gentle warmth of happiness. This aura burned with passion.

_Hatred_.

And so, he realized, did its eyes, like two tiny fires that longed to consume everything in their path. Mike gave into his earlier urge and backed away from the Puppet. He tightened his grip on the flashlight and hardly dared to breathe as he focused on the creature before him.

At how the simple tilt of its mask changed its relatively cheerful, smiling face to one of anger and pain.

Mike felt the desk behind him. He gripped the edge with one hand while he aimed the flashlight at the Puppet with the other. The marionette sat in midair, its mask still tilted enough to give that look of malice. The pinpricks in its eyes still burned.

It gave Mike all the incentive he needed to stay still and quiet.

For a long while, silence lingered between them, disturbed only by the sound of the night guard's heart forcing its beat throughout his body, his own ragged breathing. Finally, the creature tilted its head back up to properly face him. The fiery aura around it died down, leaving only emptiness in its wake. Slowly, the Puppet moved one hand from its lap and stretched its arm forward. It curled in two fingers to better point to something behind Mike.

_She fought the hardest_, it said at last.

Mike hesitated, but glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the monitor back on. Instead, he saw the drawings that normally decorated his office, most of them with Freddy or cake or balloons. The one directly over his shoulder, however, showed Bonnie popping out of a present box to the delight of a small child.

He quirked a brow, then turned back to the Puppet.

"'She'?" he asked, confused. "Bonnie's a boy, isn't he?"

And what did it mean by "escape"? The aura around the Puppet became heavy, and the ferocity in its eyes began to fade again.

_I tried to save her_, it whispered. _I tried to save all of them. So I gave them life, in the only way I could_.

Mike turned back to the drawing, carefully processing this information as he looked it over, taking in each crayon stroke, each crooked detail.

"You gave them..."

Mike trailed off in realization. The flashlight fell from his hand and clattered to the floor as dizziness clouded his head. He groped for the swivel chair to take a seat before his legs gave out. Mike tried in vain to force his mind to go blank, to not think about it. His blood chilled with each piece that slid into place:

How the animatronics showed more intelligence than possible for machines designed to sing and dance.

The strange, haunted voices he heard in his mind and in his nightmares.

The smells of death lingering on their character suits.

A situation that required someone to fight for their life, where no one else saw or heard them.

His first night here, the restaurant's bloody history hung in his mind. The rumors and legends gave him every desire to run. Maybe he should have. But if the animatronics all contained the remains of dead children, then…

The rabbit in the back room came to mind, its golden color, those years ago when it stared at him with its then-green plastic eyes at the birthday party of gold.

Mike's breath stilted then, the air around him now too heavy to take in.

"...No," he whispered, struggling to get the word out. "G-god, no. _N-no!_"

He looked up at the Puppet, the words dead upon his lips. The creature simply hung in midair, as silent and still as it had been before. Mike's throat tightened. His fingers curled around his mouth to force back screams. His other hand gripped the armrest in another pitiful attempt to protect himself from this horror.

_Breathe_, his mind told him.

It took everything in him to to obey that thought. It took even more to try to speak again.

Mike moved his hand from his mouth. His tongue danced against the back of his teeth with uncertainty of what to say. For several moments, he just breathed, tried to force his mind to go blank again.

Don't think about it.

Another breath. A stilled tongue. Mike crossed his arms over his chest again, his gaze on the floor where the Puppet's shadow darkened the tiles in the light of the fallen flashlight.

"T-tell me it wasn't...w-wasn't…"

The creature waited, and when Mike went silent again, it gently urged him.

_...Was not...?_

Mike bit his lip as he channeled all of his focus into simply breathing. A water droplet detached itself from his chin. A spot of warmth hit his lap and grew cold a second later. Only then did he realize he had been crying.

"J-J-Jam-" Mike sobbed, trying to get the name out. "-mm-mie!"

He struggled to breathe and covered his eyes. The Puppet tilted its head. Its eyes flickered for a moment as it allowed Mike to regain control of himself and quietly processed what the night guard just said.

..._No,_ it replied after a moment, its voice almost a whisper now.

The Puppet reached a hand under Mike's chin. It gently ran a long finger over his cheek to brush away stray tears. Mike saw something shift in his vision. He likened it to the blurriness that clouded his eyes.

_Jamie never came back after that day_, the Puppet assured him. _The Smiling Man never got to him_.

The shuddered breath spoke enough of his relief. Mike reached up to wipe his eyes, eased a bit more by the Puppet's warm aura. He used his sleeve to clean his face, then tried to settle down again.

"I-if...if it's not Jamie," he whispered, "then…"

The Puppet remained quiet. Mike ignored it, lost in his own thoughts for a moment. He only saw the suit that one day, and he believed the Puppet when it said Jamie never came back. The animatronics terrified that poor kid; he imagined Golden Freddy's bite him halted any future trips for the Green family. And aside from them, he knew no one else who would have known about those golden suits.

Mike looked back to the Puppet, hopeful for an answer. He parted his lips to say something. The slender creature anticipated his question, and answered before he spoke a word.

_Some answers will come to you_, it said, quietly.

The night guard looked it over, from its mask, to its crossed legs cradling its hands in its lap, the shadow on the floor beneath it. He asked the question anyway.

"...Do you know?" Mike asked.

The Puppet remained suspended above the tiles. Its mask stared ahead. It moved not even a long, slender finger. Mike waited patiently for an answer. Only silence met his ears, the quiet ambience without the fan and light. He briefly noticed the warmth in the room again. After several minutes with no answer, he tried again.

"_Please_," Mike whispered. "...What do you know?"

The marionette remained still for a another moment before it spoke again.

_You wanted to know,_ the Puppet said at last, _why they still do it_.

"That's not what I-"

_Human or machine_, _memory can fail_.

Mike stared at it, and realized for whatever reason, it refused to answer his prior question.

"...What do you mean?" he asked, giving in for now.

_They do not know his face_, it continued, _only a badge, a uniform. Night after night, they see a man in both come back. They remember what happened to them, and they think of nothing else but that pain. About what they must do to spare another child_.

Mike took in each word carefully. He glanced down at his own uniform, at his purple shirt, at Freddy's face shining from the golden security badge. Carefully, he ran his fingers over the badge. He traced over the embossed design. The blood in his face drained once more as he came to one horrifying conclusion:

"...They thought I was him," Mike said, quietly. "The Smiling Man."

The Puppet gave him one simple nod. Mike's stomach dropped at the confirmation.

"But that...it doesn't make any sense," he said. "If they know I'm-I'm not the same guy, then…"

Mike's face warmed again. His body shook again, but not with fear this time. All those nights spent holed up in this poor excuse of an office, all those hours fearing for his life, all those mornings he had to lie to Vanna if he didn't get home first...

He reached up to cover his face. His fingers clawed at it in some desperate urge to hold onto something, to make the world make any sense. Mike let go after a moment, then turned back to the Puppet. In the fallen flashlight's glow, he saw traces of its form, its white mask and buttons sticking out more in the dark.

"Why do they _keep doing this_?" he whispered. "I didn't - I didn't do anything wrong!"

_They are learning_.

The marionette remained still with its hands in its lap. Mike tensely gripped both the armrests of his swivel chair.

_They cannot always recognize the same face coming back,_ the Puppet continued, _yet they are slowly learning that you are_ _not the Smiling Man they seek_.

"_How_?" Mike asked.

The Puppet tilted its head.

_I told you before_, it said, simply. _You hear our voices. No one else ever has_.

Mike stared at the creature.

"...No one else…?"

_No_.

"Why do I hear you, then?" Mike asked. "Why hasn't anyone else?"

_You came looking for answers,_ the Puppet said. _Because you wanted answers, you were willing to listen_.

"Listen?"

The Puppet nodded.

_Do you remember when you first came here, Michael?_ it asked. _Do you remember what happened when you received your gift?_

Mike pondered on it.

"I...felt strange," he said, "and I think I...I don't know. Saw something, maybe."

_I spoke to you. Do you remember?_

Mike looked away from the Puppet as he mulled over the memory. He thought of the brightness of Freddy's back then, of the colors and games, even the smell of fresh paint and pizza before he and the other children gathered around the Puppet's box. He thought of the present, the Freddy toy inside, the Puppet resetting for the next show…

And how the Puppet replied when it thanked him.

Mike remained still in his seat, unwilling to face the Puppet.

"...I thought I...imagined that," he whispered.

The Puppet shook its head.

_For a brief moment,_ it explained, _your mind was truly open. Even now, you allow it to remain so_.

It made a gesture to the room around it.

_This place - it holds meaning to you, Michael. It hurts you as much as it hurts us, yet you still persevere and come back. No one else wanted answers like you. No one else was willing to accept what we are_.

The Puppet hung its head again. It went quiet for a moment, processing.

_Only one other came close_, it said quietly, _but time and pain have blinded him. He cannot quell it long enough to listen. He has buried himself so far in his own suffering that our voices are silenced under it_.

"...I'm sorry," Mike whispered.

The Puppet aligned its gaze to his. Its purple markings shifted again; its aura grew heavier. Mike watched the lights in its eyes gradually fade. He realized that the fingers of one hand at some point found their way to his bruised throat and continuously moved over his skin.

_It does not matter,_ the Puppet said, simply. _What matters is you hear us. ...Do you understand?_

Mike hesitated, but gave it a faint nod. The Puppet tilted its head again as it stretched out a hand towards him. Mike watched as it reached for his hand still gripping the armrest. He slowly uncurled his fingers. The Puppet gently rested its hand over his. Mike's vision flashed. Something stood in the Puppet's place - a strange gray form.

A small form, humanoid, with a round head that reminded him of an alien.

Mike winced and thought of the strange pictures he saw on the wall before.

The smile.

The figure disappeared, having lingered only for a split second. The Puppet once more sat in front of him. Mike glanced down where it still touched his fingers, unsure of what he just saw, before he turned back to the Puppet. The white mask greeted him, the red circles on its cheeks, its dark eyes, the purple lines painted down its face.

_I have never forgotten you, Michael_.

The words lingered in Mike's mind, as did the strange image.

Why did he feel like he saw that somewhere before?

_He has not, either_.

The night guard perked a little.

"Who's 'he'?" Mike asked.

_The one who called out for you_.

The Puppet retracted its hand and pulled the other from its lap. Its wrists hung almost level with its shoulders, its hands limp. Slowly, it uncurled its legs, but kept them bent, almost kneeling. Mike noted its position, and recalled the large wooden X that it was normally attached to. If he imagined strings coming from the Puppet's wrists and ankles...it looked like it hung in the hands of an unseen puppeteer.

The night guard remained in his seat.

"I don't know what you mean," Mike said. "They all talked to me."

The marionette held one hand to him, then curled its fingers toward itself in a beckoning gesture. Slowly, it turned around, then floated toward the left door. Mike shook his head, choosing to remain in his seat.

"No way," he said, sternly.

_They will not harm you_.

"I don't believe you," Mike replied.

He bent down to pick up the flashlight, then gently kicked the chair back until it tapped against the desk. The Puppet turned back to him, still floating on invisible strings. It cocked its head in confusion.

_In all this time, we have not been disturbed,_ it said. _Have I not kept my promise?_

Mike shone the flashlight over the skeletal creature, his eyes drawn to its unchanging mask and empty eyes. A tilt of its head changed its face again, the smile now almost...sad.

_I will keep you safe_.

The Puppet beckoned again. Mike hesitated a moment then glanced to the open right door. He shone the flashlight in that direction, and once more found the doorway and the window completely empty. No footsteps echoed out in the halls; no hint of purple or brown or yellow came into view. He swallowed hard, then turned back to the Puppet. It patiently hung in the air, waiting for him.

"Why can't you just tell me?" Mike asked.

He _really_ didn't want to leave the office, where he felt even somewhat safe.

_It is better for you to see_, the Puppet replied. _For _him _to see_.

It turned back toward the door.

_Come_.

The Puppet slipped into the dark opening. Mike pondered for a moment, then slowly pushed himself from his seat.

_Crazy_, he thought as he stepped towards the left door. _All of this...it's crazy_.

The missing children. The Smiling Man. Each of the animatronics bearing a human soul, all of them just as trapped in this place as he was. And himself, he realized, caught in this strange mess and walking the path toward certain doom.

The Puppet's strange ability to hover in midair no longer bothered him in comparison.

Mike stepped out of the security office, his flashlight drawn like a sword. Out of habit, he flicked it over to the corner to check for an ambush. No animatronic waited for him, only the Freddy poster hanging at the end of the hall. Content that nothing crept up behind him, Mike started down the hall after the Puppet.


	17. Old Faces

**Friday, November 12, 1993**

Mike ran his flashlight over the ten drawings just outside his office as he walked by them.

Smiling families. Party balloons. At least three of Freddy, some of them happily singing and playing with the children. He lingered a moment on the one of the strange yellow Bonnie.

_She fought the hardest_, the Puppet had told him.

It spoke in regards to the well-known purple Bonnie, not the yellow one, yet the words rang clearly in his mind upon looking at this particular picture. Of a little girl who almost avoided her horrible fate from the smiling man.

Mike glanced down at his badge at the thought. He moved a hand over it, the metal cold under his touch, smooth until his fingers reached the embossed detailing.

The very badge that damned him and marked him as a dead man.

He looked up to see the Puppet had gotten far ahead, and quickly picked up his pace to keep up with it. They passed the supply closet, with Mike breathing a small sigh of relief when nothing jumped from it. He gripped the badge as he walked, slipping it from his breast pocket and holding it tightly in his hand.

Mike kept pace, but held the badge up in the light. Freddy's face smiled back at him. He turned the badge around, where his own blue eyes looked right back at him from the smooth surface, the little clip that held the badge in place. His hand shook, distorting the reflection even more, and with it, his brows lifted, his eyes widening in horror.

_This isn't my face_, he thought.

Not with how the curve of the badge elongated his cheekbones and chin, how the gold-colored metal dulled his black hair to a dark brown.

Mike winced and dropped the badge. It hit the tile and clattered ahead of him. He followed where it went with the flashlight...and caught it glimmer just before the _-Sorry!- Out of Order_ sign.

His heart jumped, and he immediately shone the beam on the curtains, which hung partially open. Mike froze, looking through the small gap. He waited for the old pirate fox to peer out at him.

_He will not harm you_.

Mike looked toward the voice, and nearly dropped the flashlight as the Puppet's mask hung right in front of him.

"D-don't do that!" he exclaimed, clutching at his chest.

The Puppet held still, then turned to the main dining room, making a grand gesture with one hand.

_Look_.

Mike obeyed, running the flashlight over the tables, the stage, the prize counter. He saw their eyes first, glowing in the dark, but he picked them out with ease.

Bonnie stood by the stage, his paws up to his chest with one ear bent forward. He tilted his head as the flashlight ran over him. Chica peeked out from east hallway at the other side of the room, her old eyelids down and almost...sad. Freddy lingered between two game cabinets. He held his microphone with pride, but like Chica, there was a softness to his eyes.

All of them stayed in place. None of them made any attempts to move any closer.

_They will keep their promise_, the Puppet assured him.

It returned to its task of leading him. Mike quickened his pace to follow it, but turned his body so he faced the dining room, not trusting any of the other animatronics to not simply sneak up behind him. The gentle whine of robotic movement caught his attention, and he shone the flashlight over at Pirate Cove.

Foxy peered out now. Mike winced and stepped back, giving a glance behind him only to ensure he stayed by the Puppet before turning back to the fox. The animatronic tilted his head, but stayed like a dog at the ready. Slowly, his old, broken jaw began to move.

_Didn' I tell ye, lad, that ye'd be out b'fore th' morn?_

Mike felt three other sets of eyes on him, but didn't bother looking around the room. If they tried to come any closer, their servos and footsteps would give them away.

"Sh-shut up," Mike whispered, though he shot a glance to his watch.

5:38am.

They left him alone for well over an hour, he realized. Just as the Puppet promised.

_Come. We are almost to him_.

Mike turned around to follow, having nearly forgotten about the strange yellow Bonnie. He also nearly forgot what Puppet said before, something about one of them calling out to him. Mike stopped at the stage, then turned around, running his flashlight over the room.

Foxy taunted him. Bonnie gave him decent advice. Chica showed him sympathy. And Freddy granted him mercy. All of them spoke with him in one way or another, cryptic words to keep him guessing. Mike quickly thought about tonight's strange happenings, the Puppet's story, the pictures on the wall…how had this one spoken to him? "Called out," as the Puppet put it?

And then it happened again.

The entire dining room disappeared this time, leaving only an animatronic mask, marked by its dark nose. The strange sounds echoed in his ears, distorted voices with no meaning. Blue human eyes stared right at him, the red veins pulsing and shifting, the subtle movement granting a vibe of fear. The strange digital letters flickered, _It's Me_ over and over. And unlike before, he picked out the color of the animatronic's fur.

Of _gold_.

The flashlight clattered to the floor, its head loosening enough to cut the circuit to the battery. The vision disappeared with the light, leaving only four sets of glowing eyes peering out at him from the dark. Mike stepped back, considering the flashlight a lost cause at this point. He let his eyes adjust to the shadows, the midnight blue sky outside providing just enough light from the front windows to pick out forms.

The points of the party hats. A faint reflection off the glass prize counter. A set of tall ears near the stage, a round head by the east hallway.

His blood chilled under his skin, and his heart hardly dared to beat as he picked out each set of eyes, just waiting for them to come closer.

None of them moved.

_Come,_ came the Puppet's voice. _He is waiting_.

Mike looked to his right, over at the backstage room. He picked out the door's frame, the dark void inside. Two little pinpricks marked the Puppet's location. An educated guess determined it now lingered at the front of the table where the strange yellow Bonnie lied in wait.

That feeling he got before, that feeling of _need_, forced him to step forward.

Something that tugged his spirit and called out to him.

Like a..._string_.

His foot kicked something small and a little heavy, pulling him out of the trance for a moment. Judging by the distinct rolling sound it made, Mike realized he just found the flashlight. He bent down, feeling around for the long metal handle until he gripped it tightly. The night guard turned back around, fiddling with the switch and twisting its head as he glanced back at the dining room.

Four pairs of white pinpricks stared back, watching him. Mike swallowed hard. He barely got the flashlight working again. Whether the batteries started to wear out or it simply no longer connected properly, the light that shone now hardly lit up anything in front of him. Mike ran the light over the room, barely picking out Bonnie's form by the stage, some tables, Foxy's snarling face staring back at him. The beam was too weak to pick out anything else.

Slowly, he turned to the backstage room, and stepped through the gap between the last video game cabinet and the stage.

_He reached out a hand to keep himself from falling. In the fading twilight, another hand grabbed his. It grasped two of his fingers, then one as his own hand slipped away._

_He fell, sliding down into the dark_.

Mike gasped as he found himself standing in front of the backstage door. He looked at his hands and flexed his fingers. His left hand still retained the feeling of slipping away, but he knew one thing for certain:

The hand he saw was not his own.

The Puppet waited patiently for him, shifting a bit in the faint flashlight beam. Mike looked up, still shaken, but brushed his thoughts aside as he entered the back room. The Puppet gently turned to the strange yellow Bonnie.

Mike carefully approached it, though he still listened for the others. He shot a glance over his shoulder, but heard no servos or footsteps. Warily, he turned back to broken yellow Bonnie.

It still hadn't moved.

It rested on the table like a battered, decaying corpse. Its silver eyes stared at the ceiling, quiet and unblinking. Mike carefully ran the flashlight over it, taking in its frayed costume, loose wires, and bits of endoskeleton that poked out from under the dusty old cloth.

What was he looking for?

A voice entered his mind. Robotic, broken, and unlike any of the others he heard so far.

_I...I-I-I-I…m_…

The voice struggled, as though it tried to re-learn to speak after an era of forced silence.

_I-I-I...I'm...I'm st-st-st-_

Mike turned to look back at the face, shining the flashlight over to the animatronic's head. He first saw the silver eyes glimmer back at him, a sight he had gotten used to from the cameras as the night went on. But as Mike took in its face, he realized that the one intact ear stood straighter now, the silver eyes more circular than ovular, the nose a bit more forward, its teeth slightly more visible.

Because now the creature's head tilted up a bit to better take a look.

To see _him_.

Mike jolted when he noticed it, clinging tighter to the flashlight. The weak beam flickered, threatening to give out. He twisted the flashlight, trying to give it more life, but the light continued to fade. The strange yellow Bonnie still stared up at him, silent once more. Behind the silver discs, two soft pinpricks shone, signifying a new life. His good ear slowly twitched, the old mechanics struggling to complete even the simplest of movements.

It neither spoke nor moved, just kept its face on his.

The Puppet quietly hung behind it, though with the tilt of its mask, Mike got a sense of expectancy.

What did it want him to do?

_I-I'm…_ the new voice tried, _I'm st-still_…

The flashlight finally gave out. All Mike saw anymore was a single set of pinprick eyes, two faint circles around them reflecting off the metal. After a long while, the old robot struggled to turn its head. With how the lights shifted, it now glanced over at the door. The old Bonnie tilted his head back down, the silver eyes now gazing out of the only exit in the room. Everything about the movement exerted an aura of exhaustion, the sense of one on their deathbed.

…_St-sti_…_ill_...

Mike watched it carefully, listened to the thing finally coerce the word out.

..._Here_.

The lights in its eyes faded, leaving the entire room in darkness. From outside the room, he heard heavy footsteps moving and coming closer.

The others?

Something bright and green caught his attention. A second later, Mike realized the glowing digits came from his watch, now reading 6:00am.

* * *

_Activating…_

_Facial recognition engaged._

_Auto update date and time: 11/12/1993 5:59:01am_

_Uploading known database._

_Searching…_

_Power source detected._

_Charging: 15%_

_Auto update date and time: 11/12/1993 06:00:00am_

_Retrying search._

_Searching…_

_Power source undetected._

_Charge: 15%_

_Auto update date and time: 11/12/1993 06:02:54am_

_Power source detected._

_Charging: 15%_

_Auto update date and time: 11/12/1993 06:03:01am_

_Retrying search._

_Searching…_

* * *

Mike cradled the flashlight in his arm. He then felt for the button on the watch to turn the alarm off before it beeped a minute later.

The animatronics were going back to their places now, and the power should now divert off the generator and back into the building. Carefully, he felt along the wall for the light switch. When the old bulb flickered on overhead, Mike found himself alone with the weird yellow Bonnie, all the spare animatronic masks staring back at him, and then endoskeleton now sitting in the far corner beside the shelf, in the little alcove under the camera. Mike turned away from its staring eyes to examine the yellow Bonnie.

It still faced the door, its torn and creepy smile even more noticeable now that he saw the tear going almost up to its ear. Mike carefully moved closer, still wary of the thing, but started to circle around the table, his eyes looking for...well, he was sure he'd know when he saw it. He crouched down a little, not daring to touch it or get too close now that he knew it wasn't immune to the same weirdness that possessed the others.

"Who _are_ you?" he whispered.

It looked up at him in the last moments of the night, and just...stared at him.

Like it did all those years ago.

He took another step and yelped in surprise as something tangled in his legs. Mike fell forward, barely missing the table as he smacked down into the floor. Growling a little, he pushed himself up to see what he tripped on...and noticed an old power cord coming from the table. After untangling himself from it, he traced it with his eyes. One end came from the animatronic's waist. The other end went under one of the shelves, attached to a hidden socket in the wall.

Mike gaped for a second, then glared when he realized what it meant.

"You mother_fucking_-!"

He couldn't think of a word that properly expressed his fury, and fumed for a minute. When nothing came to mind, Mike pulled himself back onto his feet, then bent down with the intent to pull the cord away. He yanked it out of the wall, then stared at the limp plug at the end.

_This_ was why the power drained so fast last night.

He tossed the plug away from him. After a moment of consideration, Mike grabbed the plug and put it back in. If they did this last night, they would probably just do it again tonight. And truth be told, if this thing was going to charge anyway, it was best to do it in the day, damn the power it wasted. Let Waylon deal with it later. And speaking of Waylon…

He shot a glance to his watch.

6:04am.

Mike carefully stepped over the cord, then walked around to the other side of the table to retrieve the now useless flashlight. He gave one more glance at the strange yellow Bonnie, unnerved now that he for sure knew it had some life...and wondered what secret it held for him.

Nothing more he could do right now, he knew. Mike hit the light switch and carefully walked back into the dining room.

One more night, he told himself. One more night to see what they wanted.

Then he could put all of this behind him.

Mike entered the dining room as the overhead lights came back on. He turned to the stage, where the animatronic band now stood, ready to sing as usual. For a second, their plush looked brighter and new again. Bonnie's guitar no longer had small scratches on it from years of putting it down every night and picking it up again. Freddy's fur had no more patches missing. And Chica's yellow shone once more, no longer covered in dust and neglect.

He blinked, feeling out of place, but the whole room suddenly gained a new life. The old stage curtains brightened. The tile floors glowed from fresh wax. From behind him, children laughed and games beeped. Mike turned, seeing only an empty room save for the table closest to the stage.

Two young boys sat with their backs to him. He couldn't pick out much, only that both had dark, straight hair, and the younger boy was crying while his - friend? older brother? - comforted him.

And just like that, the grim darkness from the front windows mingled with the overhead lights. No more laughter or music, no more little boys crying at the table, and the old animatronics returned to their current fading selves.

...Mostly.

When Mike turned to them again, he noticed Bonnie's ears now drooped forward as far as they could go. Freddy's microphone hand hung at his waist, his fingers barely clutching it. Chica held Dulcie closer to her chest, almost protectively. And their eyelids drooped beyond their normal lazy expressions, giving off an air of sadness. Whatever they knew...

A soft closing sound reached his ears from across the room. Mike quickly turned around, looking for the source of it. His eyes went to the prize counter, and the present box beside it. He remembered how the box opened and came over to investigate it. As he got closer, he noticed something sticking out of the lid like a tag.

Mike picked up his pace when he better caught a glimpse of it, of the sharp colors on thick paper.

A photograph.

He snatched it from the box and held it up, running his thumb over the matte finish to confirm its tangibility. The slightly rough texture did more for him than Vanna's smiling face, but she sat there happily, purple lips stretched into a smile, blue cocktail dress perfectly catching the light, the drinks in front of her practically dancing to the loud club music.

Mike looked from the photograph, to the box, and back to the photograph again. He quickly recalled the drawing he saw last night, directly based on the picture he now held in his hands.

"...Why did you take this?" he whispered. "What does she have to do with it?"

A few small chimes played, the noise soft, but so sudden that Mike dropped the photograph. It fluttered to the ground, its back now facing the ceiling. The night guard bent down to pick it up, his hand shaking as he grabbed the photograph again.

On the back, he long ago wrote, "Vanna, 10/22/91" in tiny pen strokes. Now, he saw something else written under it in black crayon, the handwriting shaky and inconsistent...like a small child's.

_I MisS HEr_.

Mike stared at the writing, then glanced back at the box.

"...Who _are_ you?" he whispered. "_What_ are you?"

The box stood silent. Not even a chime rang from it.

Mike looked back at the picture in his hand, running his thumb over the matte finish. If anything, he at least had it back. He reached into his pocket for his wallet, then unfolded it to slip the picture back in its proper place behind the few dollar bills. Only then did he remember something.

"...There were _two_..."

He turned back to the box, glaring at it. Of the two pictures, he wanted the other one more.

The one he _couldn't_ replace.

"Where's the other one?"

Mike waited for the box to do something: for movement, a chime, even for that strange voice to call out to him. Only silence greeted him after several moments. Figuring he'd get no answer, Mike grabbed the top of the box to open it. He yanked on the wooden marionette X that sat on the top, setting it on the prize counter to get to the Puppet underneath it.

Mike grabbed the Puppet under its arms and yanked it out of its box. Its long limbs dragged on the tile floor below it.

"I know you took it!" he cried, shaking it. "_What did you do with it?_"

The Puppet hung limp in his hands, its head tilted back, its smile triumphant, mocking. With a frustrated cry, Mike tossed it to the floor, not caring if the strings tangled. He then bent over to dig through the box. A moment's search turned up nothing but the mechanisms to open the lid, some metal odds and ends, pieces of broken crayons, some small stuffed toys, and a few children's drawings that must have fallen in over the years. He tossed the drawings aside, looking under them for his personal treasure.

Whatever the Puppet did with it, it anticipated him looking here. The only pictures of any sort that he found were the drawings.

The sound of the door jingle rang into the room, then footsteps on tile.

"Kid?"

Mike grabbed the drawings to look under them one more time, ignoring the janitor for a moment. Finding nothing, he threw the papers down, then gripped the edge of the box to hoist himself back up. Sharp, angry breaths passed through his lungs, before his eyes went down to the Puppet on the floor. Mike bent down to pick it up, his fingers tightening around the thing's throat as he scooped up its legs in his other arm.

"Kid? What are you-?"

"It doesn't..._fucking_ matter," Mike whispered, trying to keep his voice steady.

His throat hurt from yelling and the healing bruise. He heard the janitor's footsteps approach behind him, and soon enough caught the smell of clean soap and November chill right behind him. Mike felt a hand on his shoulder, and whatever internal rage remained quickly drained away.

"It's gone."

Mike heard the other man shift behind him. The janitor got down on his knees to be at his level and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Kid…" the janitor started.

"I don't...want to talk about it."

Mike shifted out of his grip and throttled the Puppet for a few more seconds. He felt only slightly better as he let go of its throat, letting its head hit the tile floor. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then carefully slipped his fingers under the Puppet's head. As furious as he had been with it before, now he was gentle. Mike shifted out of the janitor's grip to stand, the Puppet now cradled in his arms.

The distinct creak of old shoes and the shift of denim fabric said enough that the older man stood up with him. The janitor glanced down at the Puppet, at how its fingers and legs gently brushed against the floor. Something softened in his face, a flicker of knowing gone in a moment. The janitor opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head as though thinking better of it.

"...That one was always strange," he said a moment later. "Swear it's got a mind of its own at times."

Mike ignored him. He took a deep breath to better calm his nerves, then lifted the Puppet over the edge of the box to unceremoniously drop it back inside. As it fell, he caught part of one of the drawings that he tossed aside and ignored in search of the photograph.

The brittle yellow paper spoke well of its age. The drawing depicted the Puppet, with its usual smile turned into a frown. Blue teardrops arched out from its eyes. A box was drawn around it in green crayon. Just outside the box, he saw part of what he assumed to be a child, and judging by the black pigtails, a little girl.

Vanna?

"Kid?"

Mike didn't have time to think about it too much. He picked up the wooden cross and gently set it back into place. He then reached to grab the flaps of the lid, gently setting them back one at a time. Another deep breath to force back residual emotion, a quick flick of his thumb to catch one more stray tear. Mike leaned over the box when he finished, his hands holding the flaps down as if keeping the creature inside trapped.

"...I have to go," he said after a moment.

"Before you do, kid," the janitor said, gently, "are you gonna be alright?"

"No."

Mike stared at the top of the box, still perturbed by all of this. The weird golden suit, the smiling man, the children, Vanna...it seemed like every piece the Puppet gave him only created _more_ questions instead of answering the ones he already had.

He pushed himself away from the box, knowing he needed to get home now. Mike headed for the door, paying the janitor no mind. The entire night left him raw and vulnerable, and he no longer felt the beating of his own heart under the numbness that now covered his skin. The morning light broke through the windows to call out to him, a faint reprieve from this horror. He heard nothing save for the sound of his own footsteps on the tile, just kept walking towards the front door.

Towards _her_.

Warm fingers wrapped around his arm, their grip only tight enough to keep him from taking another step.

"_Kid_."

Mike yanked out of his grasp.

"Mike," he said, firmly.

"What?"

Mike turned to him with a glare. He made sure to align his eyes to the janitor's, and practically savored the other man's sudden discomfort.

"Mike," he said again. "I've been here for almost a week; you can use my _damn name_."

The janitor watched him, taken aback less for Mike's correction, and more that...something in his voice didn't sit quite right with him. He looked over his younger coworker. Without the guard hat, the janitor better took in Mike's face: his blue eyes and the dark circles under them, the strands of his black hair sticking to his forehead from sweat, the grim lines that formed his mouth.

Yesterday's conversation came to mind as the janitor's face softened again. The kid dealt with some crazy things on the night shift. He chose to take the outburst as stress and to not push him any further.

"Right," the janitor corrected. "Mike. Sorry."

Mike glared at him for another moment, relishing in this newly-ignited fury. It allowed him to focus, even to forget about last night for a few brief seconds. But upon hearing his name, Mike backed down a little, taking in another breath.

"...I need to get home," he said after a moment, his tone forcibly polite.

The janitor simply gave him a nod.

"You don't have to be in tonight," he said. "Day off. You should probably get some rest."

Mike ignored him as he stepped towards the front door again.

"Ki-_Mike_!"

"I can't," Mike answered, his voice hardly louder than a whisper.

He heard the footsteps behind him. They stopped suddenly, as though the janitor thought better of it.

"...Then you'll be in tonight?" the old man asked.

Mike reached the front door, his hand now gripping the handle. He didn't want to talk or try to explain right now. Just to get home.

The door flashed for a moment, completely open, the sunlit parking lot before him. The frame changed to a different color, and while he didn't see them, he knew the posters on either side of the little alcove leading into the parking lot changed too.

Like most of his other hallucinations, it disappeared before he could question it too much. He still felt the handle, and now saw the front door closed in front of him again.

Just a glimpse into the past.

Mike took another breath, pushing it to the back of his mind where it belonged. He pulled the door open.

If the janitor said anything else, he didn't hear it over the cutesy welcome jingle that played when his foot hit the welcome mat. Mike stepped into the still-dark parking lot. His boxy little '83 Suzuki FX sat in its place, waiting patiently for him. The parking lot looked different, and for a few seconds, red and blue lights flashed over the car. Mike blinked, and the lights went away, leaving only the overcast morning dulling the chipping light blue paint.

He dug out his keys as he forced the memory back. Mike made a point to avoid looking at the old building as he pulled out of his parking spot and turned to leave the shopping center.

Something about this place enjoyed messing with his mind.

* * *

For several minutes, the janitor watched the night guard through the front windows. He took in Mike's moment of hesitation before the night guard got into his car, the forlorn look in his eyes as he pulled out of the lot. The kid was a complete wreck.

Yet he'd be back.

He always came back, even against his better judgement.

The janitor took a long, deep breath as he shook his head. In a way, he understood Mike's need to come back, to find answers. Every wall held a memory, every floor tile a question, and some of them best left where they lied.

The empty room resonated with silence around him. It took but a thought to hear the sounds of laughing children and games, the songs from the stage, a young woman's cheerful voice over it all. The janitor ran his eyes over the tables and to the stages, where he gave a brief, sad smile to the Fazbear band. All of them stood upright and ready to play for the day's crowd, just as they had since the place first opened. The janitor's gaze wandered over to the present box where he found Mike that morning. Whatever the night guard had been looking for wasn't there, and he caught that some of the kid's anger was directed at the box's sole occupant.

And likely not unwarranted.

The janitor carefully approached the prize counter until he stood in front of the present box.

"Always were strange," he said. "Always..._thinking_."

He gently tapped the box, a sad smile on his lips.

"What're you thinkin' of now, little one?" he asked, gently. "What are you hiding?"

The janitor received no answer, not even a chime as he occasionally got in response.

"...Been a while since we've seen our old friend," he said, in an attempt to coax out a reaction. "Been a while since you've been this active, too."

Once more, the Puppet remained silent. The janitor simply nodded and headed for the backstage room.

A glimmer of gold caught his attention as he walked by Pirate Cove. The janitor bent down to pick up the object, knowing what it was before his fingers touched the cold, smooth surface.

A security badge.

Mike had been missing his guard hat too. Given the kid's state just that morning, he likely had a meltdown the night before, maybe even considered quitting. The janitor looked down the hallway towards the office. If anything, he'd put it where Mike would easily find it tomorrow.

The office was dark, and it took a moment to find the switch to turn the light back on. The janitor found the night guard's hat and tie haphazardly thrown onto the desk. He gathered the items together to place by one of the monitors. If Mike came back, he'd have his full uniform again.

He briskly walked back down the hall, heading for the backstage room again. The janitor hardly stepped through the frame when a pair of silver eyes met his. He stepped back, his heart jolting for a second before he realized the old Bonnie's head simply moved at some point in the night. Whether it did it of its own volition or not was unclear, only that it startled him.

A quick glance around the room showed nothing out of the ordinary. Aside from the yellow Bonnie's head, nothing else on the table moved the night before. The janitor watched it expectantly for a moment. When the yellow Bonnie remained still, he gave it a small nod and turned to go.

From what he could tell, it left the kid alone last night, but Mike wasn't willing to talk or listen. Not that he could blame him too much, now that he better knew what the kid dealt with on the night shift. He checked his watch, knowing Waylon would get in soon. Not wanting to explain what he was doing here, the janitor dug for his keys as he headed for the front door.

"Tonight," he promised himself, giving one final glance to the Puppet's box. "The kid needs to know what he's dealing with."

The jingle played as he left the building, following soon with a key turning in the lock. A shifting sound came from within the box, then a few gentle chimes sang to the empty room.

* * *

_Facial recognition engaged._

_Auto update date and time: 11/12/1993 6:22:12am_

_Uploading known database._

_Searching…_

_File found._

* * *

_**[ERROR]/13/19[ERROR]7 07:14:54am**_

_The man's face came into view, his brown eyes, his dark skin, his salt-and-pepper beard. It was part of a video image, one that paused for the facial recognition software to start matching against the scan it just took in. Same cheekbones, same space between the eyes, same small forehead. Even the man's beard remained at a similar length, properly trimmed._

_It tried to play more of the video file. The man held a cloth in one hand, and while using it, reached to grasp its mask under the chin. The cameras blurred a bit as he lifted the mask to face the ceiling. The man said something, the voice muffled and jarred._

_The rest of the video glitched in and out, with no decipherable content._

_Facial recognition match: 99.2%_

* * *

_**ERROR:**_ _Corrupted data._

_Attempting to retrieve._

_Retrieval processing._

_Re-engaging prior database search._

_Searching..._

* * *

After all the commotion last night, Waylon Kent arrived much later than usual at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. By the time he pulled up into the deserted parking lot, the dashboard clock showed it was just past seven. He got out of his car, and headed for the front entrance. The lights were off, and a sign reading, "Sorry! We're Closed!" hung behind the glass. A test of the doorknob revealed it to be locked.

Whether or not Schmidt left on time for once, he at least made sure the building was secure first. Waylon pulled out his keys to get inside. He never really had time to investigate the damage in the wall, and with what went on at night, he knew it was best to check it in the morning. Now was as good of a time as any to take a look.

The welcome jingle played as he unlocked the door and headed inside. Upon getting the lights, all of the floors shone, the tables were set, and the animatronic band all stood in their proper places. Waylon paid them no mind as he walked toward the bathrooms. There, he found the damaged plaster and the dark void behind it. It started from the middle of the floor and sort of angled up to the ceiling, the jagged edge creating a strange doorway that stood as a barrier between the pizzeria and the hidden room. Some plaster dust and small chunks had fallen out over the night, but by the looks of the floor, the worst of it had been swept up and mopped.

Waylon came to the edge of the wall and carefully peered inside. The overhead lights showed the outline of three video game cabinets, and as he let his eyes adjust, he picked out art of Chica on the side of the one closest to him. Scattered on the floor were a few miscellaneous personal items. To the right, he barely made out parts of the tile that looked cleaner than the dusty areas around it, a hint that something used to sit there in the dust. Waylon narrowed his eyes. The size and shape of the bulky outline spoke enough of what used to sit there. In only a moment, he realized where it got moved to.

He headed for the backstage area and unsurprisingly found another animatronic on the work table. Waylon got a closer look at the thing, wrinkling his nose at the weird pungence that came from it. Maybe a mouse crawled into it and died.

"Why in God's name did someone wall up that part of the restaurant?" Waylon demanded, not expecting an answer. "We could have made a bit more money! Hell, we could have replaced the fox!"

He ran his eyes over the old robot. The yellow costume it wore needed to be replaced, but from what he glanced of the endoskeleton, it appeared to be in good order. Maybe the owner could clean it up and auction it off when this place inevitably closed down.

But that didn't matter right now. First, Waylon needed to call a repair crew and get the rest of the wall taken down. If those video games still worked, they needed to be cleaned off and turned on. And then he had to find a day shift security guard. The doctors determined that while Bell fortunately had no broken bones, the accident caused a minor concussion and several bruised ribs, the damage extensive enough to require at least a few days off. The only upside Waylon saw was he only needed a temporary replacement.

He gave the old animatronic another once-over, then headed back to his office to settle some business and see if he had anyone who could cover for a few days...and realized he did.

Waylon's pace quickened to a march to look for Gregory Mortman's application.

* * *

A few phone calls later, Waylon managed to not only get a temporary replacement for Andrew Bell, but arranged for repairs late in the afternoon. He'd have to close early, but at least the two birthday parties he had lined up could still go on. As soon as Franklin, Gwen, and Judy got in, he had them pin two spare tablecloths together, then tack them up to temporarily seal off the area.

Now to wait for his new day shift security guard.

The door jingle heralded his arrival. Greg Mortman entered, in dark slacks, dress shoes, and a white T-shirt under his coat. A small flash of gold gleamed at his neck. Greg reached up to push back a stray blond lock that fell into his face. Waylon rushed to greet him, and quickly took his hand to shake.

"Got your shirt and badge waiting in my office," he said. "Thanks for being available on such short notice."

"My pleasure," Greg said, giving the manager a soft smile. "It's good to be back. Got to admit, I've kind of missed this place."

Waylon nodded, trying not to look too exasperated.

"To tell you the truth, I can't wait for it to finally be done. After last night, I deeply considered closing this place down earlier than planned."

"What happened?" Greg asked.

Waylon pointed down toward the bathrooms.

"That."

Greg turned around to peer down the hallway, immediately catching the pinned tablecloths providing a barrier between two worlds.

"I've got a guy coming in later today to finish taking it down, and check around to make sure nothing else is ready to cave in," Waylon continued. "Already got an employee hurt."

Greg nodded.

"If you don't mind me asking," he said, "what's back there?"

"Just some video game cabinets and old junk," Waylon replied. "Nothing special."

He then gestured for Greg take a seat at one of the tables. Greg nodded and grabbed a chair.

"Wait here," the manager said. "I'm going to get your uniform."

Waylon headed for the office. While Greg waited for the manager's return, he took a glance around the room. The animatronic band caught his attention first. Back when he first worked on them, all of them were bulkier with bigger heads and stronger jaws. He always thought the plush toys of Chica looked more like ducks; now the animatronic actually _did_. Bonnie and Freddy no longer had buttons down their fronts, and both of them had smaller heads and more streamlined faces.

The company started to go through changes when he left for good in '86. Maybe this was the end result. Greg's attention then went over to the bathrooms, at the tablecloth curtains hiding the once-secret room. That, he knew, hadn't been sealed up when he left.

A soft shutting sound caught his attention. Greg looked behind him, expecting Waylon to have returned. He saw no one and heard no footsteps, so what could have made…?

Sunlight hit the prize counter, reflecting into his eyes for a second. He quickly shifted his chair. Just as his eyes took in the blue-green present box, another shutting sound caught his attention. This time, Greg heard the accompaniment of footsteps and the jingle of keys.

"Thanks for your patience, Mr. Mortman," Waylon said.

He held a pile consisting of a folded purple shirt, security hat, badge, and cheap black tie. Greg took it with a nod. Under the pile, Waylon held a few papers and a pen.

"Just your basic employee contract and other legal papers," he said, taking a seat beside Greg. "Now, before we begin, I have just one more question: what brought you back to Freddy Fazbear's after all these years?"

"If we're being honest," Greg replied, "I'm a little desperate right now."

"Aren't we all?" Waylon muttered as he handed him the paperwork.

Greg smiled at him.

"Work is work, even if it's for a week."

"Until Bell gets back," Waylon said. "After that, I'm cutting you a check."

"Understood, sir."

Greg took the pen and started filling out the proper information.

"It's kind of nice to come back for a little while," he said. "Just like old times."

* * *

_Database search complete._

_3 files found._

_**07/15/1983 02:07:16pm**_

_A teenage boy with dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin accompanied a small boy with brown curls to one of the games in view of the stage. The little boy stayed close to him. Those guests accounted for, his head moved from side to side to watch the children in front of the stage. When he looked back at the games again, the young man and little boy were no longer there._

_**07/15/1983 02:22:04pm**_

_That same teenager from earlier peeked out from the game alcove by the bathrooms. He stared right at him and his friends onstage, then ducked back into the alcove._

_**07/15/1983 02:26:53pm**_

_His head turned in time to the song. A group of other teenagers held the curly-haired boy up to the stage. Freddy sang._

_**ERROR:**_ _Corrupted data._

_Attempting to retrieve._

_Retrieval processing._

_Retrieving…_

_**07/15/1983 02:28:46pm**_

_Another part of the current video survived, still glitching, but playable. Freddy stopped singing. A human hand dangled from his mouth. Strange red paint dripped down his fur. He barely glimpsed the dark-haired youth on Freddy's other side._

_He turned his head away from Freddy. His jaw kept moving in time with the song. When his head turned back to Freddy, the daytime security guard since joined the young man onstage. His programming, timed with the song, made him look down at the children, many of them now with tears in their eyes._

_The feed cut off a few seconds later._

* * *

_Facial recognition match: 97.8_%

_Retrieving corrupted files..._

These three new files were of much lower quality than the previous corrupted file, some of the last footage recorded before the most recent upgrade to include better video and facial recognition.

Even so, they held just enough detail for the software to determine an accurate match to the scan it took that morning at 11/12/1993 5:59:01am.


	18. Confession

_A long hallway stretched out before him. Mike looked to either side. The walls were dark, with just enough light to pick out a speckled pattern._

_Hadn't he just left that place?_

_He kept walking, his feet echoing off the checkered tile, the sound bouncing off the walls on either side. These walls held very few drawings, all of them documentation of the enjoyment of young visitors. Mike kept an eye on them as he walked back, expecting them to move or change._

_They always did, eventually._

_At the end of the long hall stood a door. Mike picked up his pace, but the door never seemed to get any closer. Only an endless hallway extended out into eternity, the door mocking him with every attempt to reach it. The floor seemed to angle up a bit, each step simultaneously climbing on the tile and propelling him forward._

_For a moment, the floor flattened, no longer at a slight upward angle. Mike heard a sound behind him, heard something call his name. He glanced over his shoulder to see who called for him. Behind him, the hallway disappeared into the shadows. From the dark reaches of the abyss, he saw four sets of eyes staring back at him._

_Mike turned back around and ran, his feet digging into the floor that now angled up again. The walls ahead of him changed, lighter now, the speckled pattern closer to white than gray. The checkered dividers on the wall also changed color, fading from black and white with red lining, to purple and blue-green._

_Like the Puppet's box._

_The walls and floor kept stretching. Mike passed drawings and posters and resin pizzas, all of them seen in the corners of his eyes, but the door ahead never got any closer. He dared to look behind him again. He picked out forms now, one with long ears, another with a top hat, a third holding a cupcake, and the last with sharp teeth._

_He knew who they were. He heard them calling his name._

_When he turned around again, the drawings started to change. No more smiling children. No more balloons or presents. Not even a single animatronic._

_Only purple._

_Blocks of purple scribbles and frowning, crying faces. Black circles colored in, with white letter Vs where the point touched the center, all of them showing different angles._

_Like clocks._

_Time? Was he running out of it?_

_A third time, the floor leveled out. A third time, he glanced behind his shoulder._

_Bonnie reached for him, but something about him seemed...off. Not only his indistinguishable color in the shadows, but he seemed smaller than usual, his eyes bigger. Freddy looked bulkier and Chica's upper torso and arms looked much thinner. Foxy's head hovered over them all._

_Face forward. Keep running. You're almost there._

_The floor angled up again, the effect almost dizzying. On either side, the posters were too dark to see. Golden rabbits with empty eyes stared at him from the drawings. Golden badges with Freddy's face drawn on in childlike wonder also became favored subjects of the drawings. Mike's lungs burned, but he knew he had to keep going, to keep running. He heard them all right behind him, just as the floor leveled out once more._

_For the final time, he looked over his shoulder._

_He saw now that Bonnie's bright blue color caught some light from the shadows. Freddy had two buttons just under his bowtie. Chica's bib now read, "LET'S PARTY!" and her normally yellow pelvis turned pink. Foxy's once-red fur became white, the snout now as pink as Chica's shorts. And all of them had bright cheek circles, and what little light caught their bodies from the darkness shone like plastic instead of cloth._

_Mike yelped and ran forward. To his right, he briefly glimpsed two doors with stick figure signs beside them, and more resin pizzas. On the left were individual animatronic posters, only colored blurs that he barely glimpsed as he ran by. The door ahead, the one he had been trying to reach, finally came closer with each step, a sign on it now in clear view._

"_Parts and Service."_

_He reached to open it, his fingers barely grazing the knob. The door opened for him, revealing only more darkness waiting to swallow him whole._

_Mike slowed down, hesitating to go inside. He only had seconds to make a choice._

_It was this or the monsters._

_He took a breath and leaped inside the room. The door slammed shut behind him. Faintly, he heard them all still calling his name from behind the door, their fingers clawing against the barrier. Mike reached a hand to his throat, massaging the pain from his ragged breaths. A light flickered to his left, revealing only a single sketch when it brightened._

_A gray figure._

_The smiling man._

_Mike picked up his pace, not wanting to look at it. On either side of him, he saw lights, some of them flickering, some still. This looked..._felt_...familiar._

_Something shot out from the darkness and wrapped around his wrists. Whatever now held him pulled him forward. Mike stumbled ahead, knowing this feeling._

_The Puppet?_

_The strings tightened, catching him before he fell, then yanked him around like a ragdoll to face the door from whence he came. Mike tried to maintain his balance. He tripped over his own feet and slammed back into the floor, his head throbbing with pain. One of the lights shone from just above him._

_As his vision faded, he saw a silhouette._

_A silhouette of a rabbit with one broken ear_.

* * *

**Friday, November 12, 1993**

Their encounter yesterday morning never left Vanna's mind. Even now, it bothered her as she pulled into the apartment complex. Mike insisted that bruise was nothing, and maybe it wasn't. But the way he acted, how he shifted his body and tried to play off that nothing was wrong, hadn't even called or come to her door all week…

...Was he avoiding her?

Vanna grabbed her purse and coat and stepped out of her car. She pulled the red coat around her body, not bothering to zip it, and shut the door behind her. She started to walk inside, and noticed a figure stepping into the apartment entrance ahead of her. She didn't see his face, but she knew that distinct purple color of his uniform.

For once, Mike got home before she did. Vanna picked up her pace, trying to keep him in sight.

The Freddy's night guard moved like a ghost as he wandered to the door leading into the stairwell. Vanna called for him.

"Mike?"

He didn't seem to hear her. She started to run after him, catching up just before he reached the top of the first set of stairs.

"Mike!"

He turned around to look. Vanna noticed then that he no longer wore his security hat, but what caught her off-guard the most was his face. Exhaustion crept over all of his features, a weariness beyond the five o'clock shadow and heavy purple bags under his eyes. More than the weariness, she picked out...terror. _Fear_. His eyes stared straight ahead, darting down, then up over her.

Like he saw something else behind her.

Vanna looked over her shoulder, but saw nothing. The sound of hasty footsteps caught her attention, and when she turned around, Mike was already darting up the next flight of stairs. Vanna hurried after him, taking the steps two at a time to try to catch up.

"Mike, wait!"

He reached the top of the next staircase. When she called his name again, Mike turned around.

The fear better overtook his weariness now, and once more, he seemed to see her, but not _see_ her. Vanna grabbed the handrails on either side and used them to propel herself up to get closer to him. Mike let out a startled gasp, and made his way up the next flight of stairs.

Again, Vanna chased him. Again, she called out his name. Again, he turned around with that distinct look of fear.

Vanna only made it halfway up the next set of stairs, but even from here, she saw he stopped. She took a second to catch her breath, watching him. Mike held the fourth floor door open. He stood there and stared down into the hallway leading to their respective apartments. From the stairs, Vanna took in his hesitation. A second later, he made a decision.

He didn't run again.

He _jumped_ inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Mike!"

Vanna cleared the rest of the stairs and grabbed the door at the end. She yanked it open to follow him.

Mike still walked ahead of her. In the dim, flickering lights of the hallway, he stumbled forward, barely on his feet anymore. Vanna called for him. Mike tried to turn around upon hearing his name, but he tripped over his own feet, stumbling back into the wall beside him.

"Mike!"

Vanna made it to his side just as he hit the floor, lying just under the hallway light. She dropped to her knees, gently grasping his shoulders. He closed his eyes, and they remained closed, even with the few gentle shakes of his body. Vanna quickly put her ear to his chest, feeling a bit of relief to hear a heartbeat, then checked his breathing.

Still alive, just freaked out.

Vanna gripped his shoulders again, gently trying to wake him.

"Mike, please," she said, forcing herself to keep calm. "Mike!"

She needed to be when he came to.

"Wake up!"

He groaned, but slowly opened his eyes. Vanna shifted a bit, moving a hand along his cheek. Bits of black stubble scratched at her flesh, and his skin underneath felt hot to the touch. Mike didn't appear to register her for a few seconds, but when he did, his eyes widened, and he let out a choked, startled scream as he pulled away from her.

Vanna gasped and pulled her hands away, holding them up to her shoulders to show she meant no harm. Mike scrambled back into the wall. He blinked a few times, his breath coming out in short, sharp gasps. A few seconds later, he seemed to take her in, to _really_ see her.

His lips trembled as he managed to speak.

"V-Vanna?"

She nodded at him, kept her hands right where he could see them.

"Mike," she said, trying not to set him off again. "It's-it's okay!"

Vanna carefully reached for him, gauging his reaction. When he remained still and didn't try to pull away, she gently set her hands on his shoulders again.

"It's okay," she said again, looking him over as he sat under the hallway light. "It's me."

Under the soft glow, she better picked out the sweat glistening on his forehead, his dark hair falling into his face. Lines of stress started to etch themselves into his features, and Vanna tried to remember if they had been there yesterday or not. Mike made it a point yesterday morning to not let her look at anything too closely. Even when she made him show her the bruise on his throat, he pulled away as soon as he could.

His wrinkled shirt was unbuttoned, better revealing that the horrible bruise started to heal. His tie and badge were missing along with his guard hat. Dark bags hung under his wide and terrified eyes. His eyes practically glowed under the hall light, his pupils so shrunk they almost looked completely blue. Vanna ignored the sweat stains under his neck and arms, and even more, the distinct funk of deodorant wearing off.

She gave him another moment, and let Mike take her in as much as she did him.

Not that she had anything unusual for him to see, just her leggings and Sanctuary shirt, her open coat, and the her fading make-up after a long night at the bar. Her purse now hung at her elbow, having fallen off when she tried to wake him. Vanna tried to smile, to fix her face into something friendlier, but her brows remained raised. She felt her own lips tremble a little.

"Mike, what happened? You ran away on the stairs, and now..."

Vanna reached to feel his forehead, a little shocked that it felt cool in comparison to the warmth of his cheek. Mike just stared at her, his ragged breathing slowly getting more even.

"...Are you okay?"

Mike tried to answer her. He took a deep breath and tried to speak, but choked again. Vanna backed off a little, giving him a bit more space. For a long while, neither of them moved. Mike blinked at her a few times. Each time he did, he seemed to see her better.

What was going on inside his mind?

What did he think he saw?

"Vanna, I-I…"

Mike choked on any further explanation. He reached for her, and Vanna nodded, opening her arms. Mike practically fell into her, and she felt his hands at her back, his fingers desperately clinging for something to hold onto. She held him tightly, and felt her heart sink at how he trembled in her grasp. Whatever was going on, whatever frightened him like that...

Mike sobbed on her shoulder. Vanna just ran a hand down his back, trying not to join him.

"Shh...shh...I'm here."

His shaking hands clung tighter. He just needed something to hold onto, she realized.

Just needed _her_.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm...I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry, I'm..."

Vanna didn't answer him at first, just held him almost as tightly as he did her. She listened to his continued whispering in her ear, felt his tears against her neck. His voice quieted until it choked, ending each breath in a long, silent sob.

"Mike…"

Vanna kept running her hand over his back, coaxing him to let it out.

"It's okay," she said softly. "I'm here."

Mike nodded, rubbing his eyes to dry them on her coat. He dug his fingers further into the thick fabric of her coat as if he feared he'd fall again if he let go of her. It took several moments before he stopped shaking in her arms. She held him to her for as long as he needed to.

The moment he loosened his grip, Vanna loosened hers. She carefully slid her hands down his arms, urging them to unwind from her body so she could take his hands into her own. Vanna ran her thumbs over the backs of his hands to help ease him, then shifted her weight off her knees, standing and pulling him up with her. Mike let her, his hands trembling in hers, his legs shaky as she helped him stand.

"It's okay," she said again. "Whatever just happened, I'm here now."

Mike just nodded as he tried to stay on his feet. He tried to say something else, but only a weak, choked noise managed to pass his lips. Vanna put an arm around him to keep him standing, then dug her keys out of her pocket.

"You're coming home with me."

He started to protest. Vanna refused to let him. She gripped his waist, holding him to her. Mike gradually did the same, one arm around her waist as if clinging for dear life, his other hand pressed tightly against the wall. His smaller size let him comfortably rest his head in the crook of her shoulder as they walked.

They passed graying walls and fading green carpets. A baby cried from one of the apartments across the way. Lights flickered on either side of them, and looking to the right, at the first door they passed...Mike had almost been home before he collapsed.

Vanna carefully pulled him with her, and Mike let her direct him. They walked down one more door to hers. Down the hall ahead, one of the doors opened. She felt Mike wince in her grasp, and glanced down at him. His attention immediately went to the source of the noise, his body now tense. Vanna followed his gaze down the hall, where a woman stepped out of her apartment. Mike watched her, taking in every detail: her blonde hair in a loose braid, her pink coat, her large handbag hanging from her shoulder. Only when he seemed to have verified what he saw did he let out a long breath, and his tension became shudders again.

Vanna gently squeezed his waist in assurance. Just Magda on her way to work. Nothing unusual. Nothing to be concerned with.

She dug into her coat pocket for her keys. Mike kept watching their neighbor, his paranoia strong enough to seep through her as well. She looked up for a second at Magda, then went back to her keys. Vanna quickly sorted them until she found the correct one.

The click of the key in the lock brought Mike back to reality for a moment. Vanna pushed the door in and led him inside.

Mike wandered beside her, but stopped when he saw her kitchen table. Vanna followed his gaze to her latest project: Mickey Mouse made his way out of one of her parts boxes, and was partway disassembled on the table, with Teddy Ruxpin waiting his turn on a nearby chair.

With his workplace in mind, Vanna quickly led him over to her couch, which was so covered in throws and pillows that the original color was a mystery. She got Mike situated on one end and let him sink back into it. He looked so drained and ready to crash, so out of it that it was almost like he hadn't realized he moved at all. Vanna watched him move his arms over his chest.

Like he needed to protect himself from something.

She set a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. When Mike looked up, Vanna gave him a small smile, trying to assure him that he was safe, that things would be okay. Mike didn't return it, but he didn't need to. The nod of acknowledgement said enough. She let him go, then shed her coat and purse, throwing them over onto the lounge chair for the moment.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

Mike barely managed a nod for her. Vanna returned it with another smile. She left him there on the couch and headed into the kitchen. The moment she turned her back, her smile dropped.

Vanna quickly busied herself with filling the coffee pot, giving herself a moment to think. Seeing him scared like that, finding him passed out in the hallway...it frightened her. Less than a week passed, and he went from joking about his new job to outright terrified of it.

The suddenness of this change scared her almost as much as his distant, unseeing look of fear.

She took a breath and let her mind go blank, watching the pot fill up with water to give herself some focus. Vanna then busied herself with filling the coffee maker and setting it up to brew. The bubbling sound that filled the kitchen after a few moments gave her something else to think about as she rummaged through her cupboards for mugs and sugar.

As the coffee brewed, Vanna stole a glance over her shoulder to check on her best friend. Mike still hadn't moved. Even from here, she noted the dots of cold sweat on the back of his neck, sandwiched between his hunched purple shoulders and mop of black hair. Tremors still rippled through his body, though not as strongly as before.

Vanna opened the silverware drawer to grab two spoons, and checked the fridge for creamer. A distraction, and he probably knew it well as she did. It allowed them both some space away from each other to collect their thoughts. Vanna set the creamer on the counter beside the mugs, better able to focus after giving herself a moment. She needed to figure out how to ask him why he ran from her until she found him passed out in the hallway. And Mike undoubtedly needed to determine how to answer that question.

The smell of fresh coffee started to fill the apartment. Vanna left Mike alone while the pot filled. She took a moment to pull off her boots and toss them by the front door, before she busied herself with tidying her cluttered kitchen. Only when the coffee maker beeped did she look up again.

Another minute to pour and prepare the two mugs. A long, deep breath as she clutched a handle in each hand and turned around to head into her living room.

Mike still hadn't moved as she rounded the couch to sit beside him. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, his fingers burrowing into his purple uniform sleeves. His shoes practically dug into the colorful throw rug under her glass coffee table, and he kept his gaze on the stacks of pop culture magazines, ashtray, and tissue box before him. At least he'd stopped shaking, for the most part.

Vanna set his mug in his direct line of sight. That he didn't touch it further concerned her, but she didn't press it. She carefully took her seat beside him. She shifted a few of her throw pillows to be closer to him, but made sure to keep a comfortable distance between them. Vanna took a long sip of her own coffee, then held the hot mug in her hands.

"...What happened back there?" she asked, after giving him another moment.

Mike remained still for a little longer, then perked, as if he only just registered the question. He started to look up, then turned away again.

"I just...stumbled," he said.

Vanna frowned, but watched him. Mike finally uncrossed his arms, gazing down at his hands. They shook again, and Vanna noticed his gaze wasn't so much on his hands, but on his wrists. He shifted and moved them, examining the pale flesh closely

Like...he saw something attached to them.

Satisfied but wary, Mike rested his arms over his knees, looking back down at the coffee table where his own mug waited for him. He stared at it, determining if he wanted it or not.

"I'm...I'll be…"

Vanna didn't believe him. If he was fine, he would have touched that coffee by now.

"Mike," she said, firmly. "Don't lie to me."

She clutched her mug tighter, staring into the abyss of milky brown cream and sugar. Her mind went to yesterday morning, where he tried to avoid her, and how she suspected trouble the moment she saw that horrible bruise. And she meant it when she said he could come to her about anything, that if he didn't, she'd to come to him. Vanna just wished he took the invitation instead of forcing her hand.

"...I knew something was off yesterday," she confessed. "I let it go for your sake. I shouldn't have. I won't do that again."

Mike started to say something. Vanna turned in time to see him glance up, then quickly lower his head again as though thinking better of it. Slowly, he nodded, still unable to face her. She gave him another moment, then carefully reached to set her hand on his shoulder. Mike flinched a bit, but otherwise made no attempt to pull away. The clamminess of his skin seeped through his shirt, and this close to him, Vanna once more caught the distinct pungence of sweat mingled with residual amounts of fading deodorant.

"Tell me what's going on," she said, once again firm.

Not demanding, but not letting him hide from her again, either.

Mike gave her a brief nod, though he remained silent for several moments. He reached up to run his fingers over the bruise in a soothing motion. His furrowed brow gave away his fearful thoughts, and a small bite of his lower lip told her he hesitated to give her any information.

Vanna let go of his shoulder to take his hand. Mike let her, his hand limp and almost lifeless in her grip. She still felt a chill on his flesh, though not nearly as noticeable as his shoulder had been. Less from fear, and more from slowly regaining warmth from the cold outside. Vanna ran her thumb over the back of his hand to try to coax him, and kept her other fingers gripped around her mug.

"What happened back there?" she asked again, her tone careful. "Why did you run from me?"

He hesitated, chewing on his lip again. Mike suddenly gripped her hand, running the tips of his fingers over her warmer flesh. It took another moment before he answered her.

"I didn't...I didn't recognize you. I-I thought..."

His eyes did that thing again, where he saw, but didn't see. Mike's fingers stopped moving, and he winced, before he seemed to abruptly come out of it. Vanna tried to keep her face neutral, though she felt her brows curving in with worry.

"...Mike?"

He blinked again. Vanna noted the slowness of his lids, the faint red tint at the rims of his eyes, and how the bags sagged a little more. He needed to sleep, and badly, but she wondered if he even _could_ right now.

"S-sorry," he managed. "I d-didn't...I saw _them_."

Vanna quirked a brow, wondering what he meant.

"Them?" she asked, prodding gently.

"The-the animatronics. Only they...they were _different_."

Vanna instinctively found her eyes on his upturned purple collar. He seemed nervous about that yesterday too, and today, he was missing other pieces of his uniform.

"Did they hurt you?"

Mike vehemently shook his head.

"N-no," he managed. "They were...chasing me. C-calling my name…"

He reached his free hand up, resting his fingers over his forehead. Mike shook head, though now it was more trying to banish away a thought than outright denial. He blinked again, taking a few deeper, longer breaths as his thoughts settled.

"...I don't know h-how...how to explain it. I _really_ thought I was...I was _there_."

Mike looked back to her, his eyes shifting quickly, taking in her every detail to verify to himself that what he saw before him was, indeed, real. Vanna felt her face shift into worry again. This time, she found it difficult to keep it back. Her mind kept going to his face when she chased him, the hard lines that fear carved into it, his terrified eyes that stared at things only he could see.

Vanna ran her thumb over his hand, her fingers curled protectively around his. She glimpsed down at their hands and felt her heart jolt a little. His flesh looked so ashen and pale, almost _dead_ compared to the olive-gold color of her own skin.

Maybe he got a similar thought, because Mike gasped and suddenly winced out of her grip. He curled his hand against his chest as though he pulled it away from a cobra. Vanna jolted a bit in surprise, recoiling her own hand away from him. Some of her coffee splashed over her hand and onto her leggings. She hissed a bit in pain and set the mug down on her coffee table.

Mike looked up at her, and whatever blood he previously regained in his face quickly drained.

"O-oh my god!" he exclaimed, reaching for her. "I-I...I'm sorry!"

Vanna held up her other hand to show she was fine. She shifted her wet hand to keep the coffee from dripping onto the throw rug.

"Don't worry about it," she said, heading back to the kitchen.

Mike nodded, turning around to watch her from the couch. Vanna quickly rinsed off the coffee in the sink. She glanced to him, shot him a small smile to try to assure him she wasn't really hurt, then turned to grab her dishcloth. She wetted the cloth and used the moment to both clean her leggings and to think.

The blanking out, the tense posture, all his senses on high alert and on edge, the dark bags under his eyes and distinct lines of fear she kept seeing...Vanna hated to admit that this strange behavior scared her. The recurring thought that it took less than a week for his job to do this to him concerned her even more.

What was going on at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza?

Vanna used a dry part of the dishcloth to dab at her pants, then walked back over to the couch, the towel still in hand. Mike still watched her, his eyes following her every move. He looked almost as worried as she felt. As she sat beside him again, Vanna briefly wondered if she should try to get him to the hospital. He practically teetered on the edge of a mental break.

For a moment, they sat quietly as Vanna used the dishcloth to clean up the coffee that formed a ring on the coffee table and left long spill streaks over the side of her mug. Finally, she turned back to him.

"It doesn't really hurt," she assured him.

Mike nodded, still shaken. He started to reach for her again, but stopped as his fingers brushed against her hand. A few red splotches marked where the coffee hit. He settled for gripping the edge of the couch instead, his hunched posture and inability to face her speaking enough of his shame.

Vanna carefully put her hand over his.

"Mike?" she asked. "It's okay. It was an accident."

His body trembled again. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from her.

"I-I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's not...god, I thought…"

Mike reached up to bury his face in his hands, then slid his fingers up over his forehead and into his hair. He grabbed at the roots solely to have something to hold onto, to try to stop shaking. Mike set his elbows back on his knees, his focus now only on the scratches of his shoes and parts of the colorful throw rug. Soft, muffled noises escaped his throat.

Vanna rested her hand over his back, ran her fingers over his spine to try to soothe him.

"Mike, it's okay."

"No, it's not!"

He pulled his hands from his hair, his eyes going to what little of his wrists he saw under his uniform. Like before, he seemed to be looking for something. Vanna leaned over to get a better look. She glimpsed no scars or injuries on his wrists, only smooth, unharmed flesh. She hated that a faint breath of relief passed her lips. She hated even more that her mind went to that potential conclusion.

Mike kept staring at his wrists. He then reached up to wipe his eyes on his sleeve.

"I just…it happened again. It's not...fuck, this never h-happens here."

Vanna slipped her fingers under his chin, urging him to look at her. Mike obeyed, and the tears he tried to hold back started to spill over. She ran her thumb over his stubbled cheek, trying to wipe them away.

"...What did you see?" Vanna asked, gently.

Mike carefully reached to put his hand over hers. His shaking fingers barely gripped her own.

"...Gold," he whispered after a moment. "Just...gold."

Vanna looked down at her injured hand, then back up at him.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I saw…f-felt…"

He closed his eyes and took a breath. When he opened them again, he managed to finish answering her.

"...It looked animatronic," he said, quietly. "Th-there's a new one...for a second…"

Mike gripped her hand tighter.

"I saw m-metal joints," he continued, "felt old-old cloth and dust. And my hands..."

He let her go, held his wrists up for her to see.

"Strings. It s-said it saw strings."

Vanna let go of his cheek to take his hands into hers. Gently, she examined them, turning them over and running her fingers over his palms and wrists. His hands still retained a bit of chill, warmer now, and beginning to regain their color again. She felt his rapid pulse just beyond his flesh.

"There aren't any strings, Mike," she said, looking back up to him. "And I promise, I'm a human being."

She offered what she hoped to be an assuring smile. Mike simply nodded.

"I know," he said quietly. "It wasn't l-like this a few days ago. I...I-I had nightmares, but…"

He let go of one hand to rub his eyes, exhaustion and fatigue finally starting to chip away at the last dregs of his adrenaline. Mike examined his hands again afterwards, still looking for the strings.

"...Nothing like this. I was n-never...awake for it."

Vanna nodded and set her hands in her lap, making sure to keep the injured one on top. She kept a close eye on him, unsure of what to think about these strong, vivid hallucinations, and how he kept going back to his hands.

"You mentioned 'it' saw strings," she said.

"The Puppet," Mike clarified. "We talked a lot last night."

He finally reached over to take his coffee. Mike held the mug in his hands, but didn't sip from it. Even at a glance, Vanna saw the dark liquid slosh inside against the sides from the faint tremors in his hands. He gripped it tightly, afraid of dropping it.

"...About strings?" she offered.

A nod.

"Among other things."

Mike started to pull the mug to his lips, but stopped. He rested his elbows on his knees to grant his hands a little more stability.

"It...t-told me a lot of things," he continued. "About...what happened. Those...kids that disappeared. They're st-still there. _Ghosts_. And then…a 'Smiling Man' that h-hurt them."

Vanna started to say something, but stopped. Mike's gaze remained downward. He closed his eyes, trying once more to still his body. Carefully, he set his mug back on the coffee table, before he buried his face in his hands.

"I m-must look like...like I'm f-fucking crazy."

Vanna shifted closer to him and carefully wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him to her. She rested her head over his, trying to push back her own worry and uncertainty. He _really_ believed what he was saying.

"You're not," Vanna said, mostly to try to assure him. "Mike, it sounds like this job is really getting to you. Maybe you should-"

"I can't."

She frowned.

"Why not?"

"I just…"

Mike lowered his hands from his face until they gripped both of hers. Vanna held still, once more sensing his need to hold onto something.

"...They need me, Vanna," Mike whispered. "I c-can't...I-I don't..."

She moved her head just enough to look at his face again. Just the sight of the tired purple flesh around his reddening eyes threatened to break her into joining him, but he needed her to be strong right now. Vanna released one hand to touch his face again. She took a long, cleansing breath before offering him the same advice.

"Breathe."

Mike nodded. He closed his eyes as he tightly grasped her other hand, taking in her warmth as though her very touch healed him. He sucked in a breath and slowly let it out. Mike remained quiet and still. When he finally looked up again, he was calmer, but still on edge.

"...I need you to believe me," he whispered, "no matter how...how f-fucking insane it sounds."

Vanna started to look away from him, but stopped, pondering something. Slowly, she forced up a smile and turned back to him.

"I told you to come to me if something was going on, didn't I?"

In truth, all of it sounded unfathomable. Mike had no reason to lie to her, and his tone and body language matched every word he spoke, but...talking animatronics and dead children? And what about the bruise on his neck, his missing items? More was happening than what he let on, but for now, she let him speak.

"I actually..._did_ need to talk to you about something," Mike told her. "I was on my way before..."

He pulled her hand from his face, then made a quick gesture. Vanna nodded in understanding. Before he hallucinated being chased down the hallway, he meant.

"...I saw you there," Mike said. "Last-last night."

Vanna's smile faded as she caught on.

"Like you saw the animatronics chasing you?"

Mike shook his head.

"This was...different."

He shifted out of her embrace and pushed himself up from the couch, just enough to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket. Mike opened it and flipped through the billfolds as he spoke.

"The pictures change sometimes."

"What pictures?" Vanna asked.

"You know those drawings they put everywhere?" Mike replied. "They change."

He found the picture and pulled it out. Vanna saw the colors and the subject of the photo. She tried to keep her face neutral, but she immediately guessed where he was going with this.

"And one of them turned into me?" she asked.

Mike nodded as he bent over to set his wallet on the coffee table beside his mug of untouched coffee. The back of the photo caught her attention as he moved, his hand tilting up a little. She saw some writing, letters mostly, but nothing legible from the angle he held it at.

"What's that?"

Mike turned back to her and held out the photo for her to take.

"I promise, this-this isn't a joke."

Vanna gave him a curious look, but took the photo from him. She briefly glanced at herself, looking at that blue cocktail dress and drinks on the table, trying to find anything strange. Upon finding nothing unusual, she flipped it over to read the back.

Her blood froze in her veins upon the sight of, "I MisS HEr" in black wax scribbles, just under where Mike once penned her name and birthdate. Something about the writing called out to her, but it left as quickly as it came.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and winced, blinking a few times as if waking from a dream. Vanna turned to Mike, whose fear and uncertainty just seconds ago turned into concern.

"...Vanna…?"

"I'm okay," she whispered, forcing another smile over her trembling lips.

"You're crying."

Vanna slowly reached up to touch her face, realizing he was right. She quickly brushed her cheeks, then looked back to the picture in her suddenly shaking hand. She stilled it, and wondered if this was the kind of thing he kept seeing. Kept _experiencing_. She tilted the photo in her hand to see if the writing changed or disappeared, but the words remained where they were. Running her thumb over the wax only further proved its reality.

"...I don't know why I'm crying," she whispered.

Vanna carefully turned the picture in her hands, looking over the black wax, his penmanship, the memory of her twenty-fifth birthday party two years ago.

"What does this mean?"

"I don't know," Mike said, quietly.

He carefully reached to take the picture back. As soon as he retrieved it, Mike looked over the club colors and matted surface.

"A few nights ago, my wallet disappeared," he explained. "Puppet gave it back without the pictures."

Vanna stared at him, not wanting to believe the animatronic was capable of doing something so deliberate. That it could even _leave_ its box.

"Mike, it can't-"

"It did," Mike said, as though reading her mind.

He turned the picture in his hand to read the back.

"Puppet gave it back like this," he continued, "and I...I think it knows you. Somehow."

Vanna went quiet for a moment, before she slowly shook her head.

"..._How_?" she asked. "I've never been there before."

Mike looked at the picture again with a frown, noting that she had a point. He stared at it, pondering it for a moment, then flipped it to the back to read it again.

"...Mike?" Vanna prodded, after a moment of silence.

He looked up to her, shaking his head.

"I don't know how it knows," he replied. "I just know it wrote this."

Mike carefully set the photo on the coffee table for the both of them to look at. The black crayon faced the ceiling, the words, "I MisS HEr" in both of their lines of sight. He picked up the coffee mug, clutching it in both hands. After he _finally_ took a long sip from it, his posture loosened, and he looked a lot calmer.

Vanna retrieved her own mug, still wary about Puppet, but relieved that Mike started to act like his old self again. The beverage was still hot enough to be drinkable, but had cooled significantly as they talked. And truthfully, both of them needed another moment to think and gather their bearings again.

Mike set his mug down first, though his eyes went to the unopened pink envelope lying not far from it. He reached for it, turning it around to read the address in Bailey Belrose's clean penmanship:

_Vesper Belrose  
1331 Windwalker Ave, Apt 5  
Booker, Colorado 80999_

Vanna had been mid-drink when he picked up the envelope. And when she lowered her mug and noticed it in his hands, she quickly snatched it away from him, ignoring the startled gasp that followed. In the corner of her eye, she saw Mike looking from the envelope to her, his guilt palpable. She turned to him, fighting back the small bubble of hurt that began to form in her chest. He started to say something, an apology maybe, but quickly lowered his gaze as his hands awkwardly shifted in his lap.

Maybe the card reminded him of something important. Maybe he saw a connection that she hadn't. Maybe she should have shoved the damn thing in a less obvious place than the coffee table, or thrown it away while she was thinking about it. Vanna stared at the envelope she held in her now-trembling hand, at the faint pink color and the still-sealed seam.

The seam began to blur. Vanna reached up and touched her cheek, knowing she was crying again.

Why was she crying?

She felt a human hand on hers and turned back to Mike. He still kept his gaze downcast, but unlike before where he barely kept himself together, now he looked...focused.

Determined.

Trying to piece something together.

Vanna gently squeezed his hand. It was her turn to need something to hold onto.

"...Please don't be mad," Mike whispered.

She sniffled a little, then set the envelope back on the coffee table. Vanna grabbed a tissue from the small box nearby. She then turned to him once she finished blowing her nose and cleaning her face.

"I'm not," she said. "I'm...I'm sorry, Mike. I don't kn-know what came over me."

"That's not what I mean."

Mike squeezed her hand again.

"Vanna..." he started.

She felt her stomach sink. The bubble of hurt threatened to burst. She knew what question would follow her name...and that _this_ was what his apology referred to.

"...What happened to Vesper?"


	19. Vesper

Vanna looked away from Mike. She tossed her used tissue on the coffee table and grabbed a fresh one, holding it up over her mouth and nose in fear that she might choke or scream. It wasn't about the envelope, not really. It was the name written on it, the writing on the back of Mike's picture...

Her mind tried to prevent her from putting those pieces together.

"You never...talk about her," Mike said, softly.

"Yeah," she whispered. "For the same reasons you don't talk about _him_."

She felt his grip loosen, and in the corner of her eye, she watched him pick up his coffee mug, suddenly interested in it again. Vanna quickly retrieved her own and stared into it, then forced herself to take a sip. When she lowered the mug again, her eyes went to the envelope that bore her sister's name.

She and Mike had more in common than he realized. He didn't know her story, but she knew his. It was big news six years ago, and part of the reason he moved all the way to this side of town, far away from that old place.

They long ago entered an unspoken agreement that neither brought up the subject of the other's personal tragedy.

Vanna glanced up to her entertainment center. It took a long time to display it, but one of the pictures among the trinkets and VHS tapes showed two twin girls in white ballet shoes, crowns, and tutus. Both looked about four or five, with olive-gold skin and black hair tied up in buns, bright smiles and slanted green eyes as they posed in the fourth ballet position for the picture.

She turned back to the picture on the table, gently setting her tissue down to pick it up. Vanna looked between the crayon writing and the photo of herself and her twin as little girls. She set down her coffee and held Mike's photo in both of her hands. As she ran her fingers over the writing, her chest panged again.

Mike hadn't said a word or even lowered his cup. He broke their silent contract, and yet…

Vanna closed her eyes. This whole morning with him had not been anything she expected. Then again, she wasn't sure what she expected to begin with. Work stress, maybe a lie about that bruise on his neck. But not weird dreams and hallucinations, or creepy animatronics or ghosts that had something to do with her.

With _Vesper_.

She opened her eyes and turned back to Mike. He held his mug in his lap again, but still didn't face her. Vanna turned away from him, glancing once more at the childish scrawl in black crayon. Like before, her mind flashed for a brief second. This time, she heard a child, though if it was laughter or crying, she couldn't be certain.

In that moment, Vanna made up her mind.

"...It was called Fredbear's."

She didn't face Mike, but she heard him shift among her blankets and throw pillows. Mike perked a little. That was the name he read on the folder, and in the articles he found.

"Fredbear's?" he asked, carefully.

Vanna nodded, still staring at the writing.

A part of her wanted to see or hear something again. Another part wanted to be rid of the weirdness and be done.

"It was...kind of like Freddy's," she continued, closing her eyes for a moment to imagine herself there, "but with only two characters and a lot more gold and purple."

She opened her eyes again, deliberately flipping the photograph over to stop looking at the crayon writing anymore.

"That's most of what I remember," she said. "We stopped going when I was four."

Vanna set the photo down again and picked up her coffee.

"...What happened?" Mike asked, carefully.

Cake. She specifically remembered cake, and a lot of other kids getting upset. And then...

"Accidents," Vanna said, her breath hitching a little. "People getting hurt. It's why we stopped going."

"What kind of-?"

"Just accidents."

Vanna deliberately took another sip of her coffee to avoid further explanation. She saw Mike back down in the corner of her eye, then awkwardly sip at his own. The distinct scent of strawberry frosting entered her nose, and she pulled her mug away from her face, half-expecting to see pink icing globs.

Only coffee diluted with creamer.

After mentally confirming she held ceramic, and not cake, Vanna took a deep breath and grabbed the unused tissue from the coffee table. She closed her eyes as she wiped them again, then brought her mug into both hands.

"...They closed down," she quietly continued, "and Freddy Fazbear's opened about two years later."

Vanna paused a moment, mentally calculating the time.

"That was...1973 when Freddy's first opened. Same building, I think."

"Maybe that's how Puppet knows you," Mike suggested.

Vanna shook her head.

"It wasn't there," she said. "And even if it was, how would it know me now? I'm all grown up."

Mike frowned, conceding her point. He was slightly more comfortable now that she seemed willing to talk.

"Well, it knows both of us somehow," he said.

The alertness in his eyes returned as he mulled it over.

"My family went to Freddy's the first day it opened," Mike said. "I was five."

"We were five when Fredbear's shut down," Vanna mused. "So...'71."

She paused for a moment, then corrected herself.

"No, wait, we were four. I had my birthday after that, but...still '71."

Vanna glanced back down at her mug. Her coffee was almost gone.

"So we were never there at the same time," Mike said.

His best friend shook her head. Vanna slowly sipped at the remains of her coffee.

"...I didn't really understand everything that happened at Fredbear's," she continued. "There was a lot of chaos, something about an accident, and then..."

She drained what was left. Her lips tightened, and she clutched her mug so hard, she felt she might break it. More than the damn cake, the confusion of that night lingered in her mind, her back and head hurting, her parents trying to keep her calm in the aftermath.

"...Vesper never came home."

Vanna never heard Mike's mug clink against the coffee table, or the shifting of throw blankets and pillows as he moved closer to her. She simply felt tight, warm arms around her, his head on her shoulder, and the softness of his hair against her neck. Vanna sat still for a moment, blinking in shock, but when she registered him, she carefully returned the embrace.

Her fingers loosened their grip on her mug, and she heard the small _thud_ of it landing safely on her throw carpet. As tightly as he held her, she returned it in kind, resting her head on his shoulder and drying her eyes on his uniform shirt.

He didn't need to say a word.

He understood perfectly.

Vanna clung to him until her eyes finally ran dry. Her back ached from bending down to his level. Long breaths occasionally choked with silent sobs entered and exited her lungs. His arms around her, their shared pain, helped her to ease.

"...Thanks," she whispered, when she felt she had control again.

Vanna let him go, straightening up and sinking back into the couch. She reached up to wipe her eyes. Mike grabbed a tissue and handed it to her. Vanna took it to wipe her face and blow her nose, then balled it up in her hand. Her fist hovered near her mouth as she took a long breath.

"It got...worse after that," Vanna said.

She tossed the used tissue beside the other one, then grabbed another, playing with the fresh one as she spoke.

"My parents wouldn't talk about Fredbear's, and neither would anyone else in my family. It was like a curse to speak of it, and if it got brought up, they scolded me and acted like it never existed. They wanted me to forget it was a thing."

"But you didn't," Mike said, quietly.

"My mom kept trying to tell me it was all a bad dream," Vanna explained. "Made up some bullshit about angels taking Vesper away while we slept, and then scolded me for making up stories based on the new Freddy Fazbear's place. I almost believed it, too. I did, actually, for a few years."

She pointed up to her entertainment center.

"But then I found that."

It took Mike a moment to notice what she pointed at. Unlike the ballerina picture, which held some prominence on the shelf, this one was strategically placed among several of the ballerina trinkets to be hidden unless one specifically looked for it. He barely saw two little faces poking out from behind them.

"That was behind my mom's entertainment center," Vanna explained. "I was seven or eight when I was getting a book and knocked some of them down behind it. I found it covered in dust when I went to get the books, so Mom obviously forgot it existed. And then I knew I wasn't making it all up like she told me. That Fredbear's was real, and that something about it had to do with why Vesper went missing."

She moved a hand to her head.

"And then I'd just get flashes of things I thought I'd forgotten."

"Like what?" Mike asked.

"Like the toys Vesper and I had of the characters," Vanna said. "After she disappeared, I kept them both safe, thinking she'd come back, and we'd play with them again. Then one day, they disappeared too, just like her. I went crying to my mom, who just told me to stop lying, that I never had them."

Vanna crossed her arms and glared down at the coffee table.

"I was playing outside, and I saw one of their legs poking out of the trash can. I tried to get them back. Mom caught me, and made sure I stayed inside until the garbage men came. I watched them dump the trash, Mike. It's a moment I'll never forget. I was crying. If Vesper ever came back, we wouldn't play with them anymore. Then she told me that never happened either, that I must have had a nightmare."

A helpless laugh escaped her lips.

"Isn't that fucked up?" she asked. "They were our favorite toys. We had the idea in our heads that they were made just for us. I don't remember why; I just remember they were very special."

Mike hated how his stomach dropped.

"...Maybe your parents didn't want reminders," he said.

"I used to believe that," Vanna said. "I wish I still could."

She crossed her arms in her lap and leaned on them.

"They were just toys," she continued, "but losing them felt like losing my sister all over again. And that's not even the worst part."

Mike stayed quiet, allowing her to collect her thoughts. He caught the tremor in her lips, the glimmer in her eyes that she barely pushed back.

"My dad couldn't handle it and left a few months after Vesper disappeared," she said after a moment. "We don't really talk anymore because of it. I needed him, and he left me behind with my crazy mother. After Dad left, Vesper...became this weird deity in our house. This perfect child who was taken by angels, because Mom had to erase Fredbear's somehow, and make it seem like a good thing she was gone. Maybe at first, that's what she was trying to do. What _actually_ happened was I grew up in her shadow."

Vanna gestured to the envelope on the table.

"That damn card is a yearly reminder of my place," she explained. "That I'll never live up to being the perfect little angel that made my mom so proud."

Mike nodded.

"Is that why you don't talk?" he asked.

"Among other things," Vanna said.

She sighed.

"I _tried_, Mike. I tried for _years_ to live up to that. Nothing was ever good enough for her, so I eventually stopped giving a damn what she thought."

She reached for a pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, slipping one out before offering him the pack. Mike frowned, but took one after he realized how long he'd gone without one. Vanna lit her own, puffed it twice, then continued to speak.

"Vesper's perfect because she never got a chance to be otherwise," she said, bitterly. "Me? I'm a sinful failure with a tramp stamp who smokes, wears short skirts, and works in a bar."

She sucked on her cigarette as she sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly.

"I played nice for a bit to go to college after high school," Vanna continued, "but the moment she cut my funding, I cut her off. In a way, I'm glad she did. She couldn't use that or Vesper to control me anymore."

She closed her eyes. Mike gently reached to set a hand on hers.

"...I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

Vanna gripped his hand as she took another drag. Mike tightened his own grip when he noticed the faint tremors coursing through her fingers.

"...It's kind of funny," Vanna whispered.

"What?" he asked.

"Your timing."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked, before taking a drag himself.

"When we first met," Vanna said, "I was actually only recently in a good place."

She pointed up to the picture of herself and Vesper in their tutus.

"I'd only been displaying that picture for a few months before you showed up. Before that, I _hated_ Vesper and everything she stood for."

Vanna took one last puff of her cigarette before she snuffed it in the ashtray.

"Well...not _her_ her, but the idea of her that my mom planted in my head. I had to get away from my mother and that house. I had to get away from the perfect angel, and all my stupid relatives that fed into Mom's delusional bullshit."

She pulled her hand from Mike's and crossed her arms, leaning forward to balance them on her knees.

"...It hurt, losing all those people," Vanna confessed, "and especially my mom, but I felt a lot better after. Kind of like taking a breath after being underwater."

She sighed, her breath hitching a little.

"In time," she continued, "I realized it wasn't really Vesper's fault that our mom is fucking crazy, and that all the angel shit wasn't...wasn't _really_ her. And slowly, I began putting our things up."

"You mean the picture?" Mike asked.

Vanna gestured around the room, at the all ballet memorabilia cluttering the shelves.

"I've added to it since, but a lot of this stuff was in our room. Because it wasn't related to Fredbear's, I was allowed to have it."

She pointed up to the shelf where the mostly-hidden picture stood, and specifically, the white, doll-like figurine beside it. The figure stood on her tiptoes with her arms raised over her head, her shoes, hair, and tutu all a brilliant shade of blue.

"That one there was Vesper's favorite."

Mike got up to get a closer look at it, but something in the photograph right behind it caught his eye. He gently moved the ballerina figurine and some ceramic ballet shoes to access it. Upon first glance, he saw Vanna and Vesper at a birthday party. Judging by the candles on the cake, they were turning four, with both of them leaned over to blow them out together. In the background, he picked out what initially caught his eye: golden arms just barely caught in the frame on either side of the twins.

Golden arms with five fingers on each hand.

Mike's heart jolted as his mind went to the animatronic sitting in the back room. Was _this_ why the Puppet wanted him to find it? Why he saw Vanna on the walls and on the sketch inside its box?

"Neat, isn't it?" Vanna asked.

Mike glanced back to her, pulled from his thoughts.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"I thought about confronting Mom about it," Vanna explained, "then...chickened out when I thought about how she'd take it. So I kept it hidden until I moved. It's got our names, birthday, and the location written on the back."

Mike stared at the Fredbear photograph for another moment, before he gave a delayed nod in response.

"I really wish I knew more than that," Vanna whispered, "but I don't, and...n-no one in my family will...will tell me more about it."

Mike quietly nodded as he returned to the couch. He took a seat and tightly gripped her hand, wanting to help her.

Wanting to make it _right_.

Vanna rubbed her face on his shoulder again. Oddly enough, she found his scent of sweat and deodorant comforting.

"My parents looked everywhere," she whispered. "She was just..._gone_."

Her eyes fell upon the envelope on the table. Vanna carefully pulled away from him. Mike followed her lead.

"And to make it worse, my stupid mother does this shit every year," she continued, reaching over to pick up the envelope. "I used to think she was just mixing us up, but I learned long ago that it's all just an act."

Vanna turned the pink envelope in her hands. With each turn, her hands shook, and she considered tearing it apart then and there. She found another well of tears to pull from as she clutched the envelope and stared at her sister's name.

"...She wants me to r-remember that I'll never live up to Vesper," she whispered. "That she was..._perfect_, and I'm not."

Vanna narrowed her eyes at the envelope, on the verge of giving into the temptation of ripping it to shreds. Thinking better of it, she turned to Mike and handed it to him, not wanting to deal with the envelope anymore, or her mother's cruelty about her sister's memory. She should have told him to trash it days ago, along with anything else that "accidentally" got sent to him. Then she wouldn't have to deal with it at all, or the sudden pain that surged through her now. Vanna felt a gentle tug on the envelope and let go as Mike took it away from her. He set it down on the coffee table, and grabbed a tissue to hand to her.

"I wish you told me," he said quietly. "I wouldn't have-"

"It's done," Vanna said, taking the tissue to wipe her eyes. "And...god, you're right."

"About what?"

"That this is all fucking crazy."

Vanna took a few minutes to compose herself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never wanted you to know."

"Vanna."

Warm fingers curled around her hand. Vanna looked over at Mike. He blinked a few times in an attempt to keep his face calm and tried to lift the corners of his mouth into a smile. Both attempts failed, giving way to his own nervousness and sorrow.

"...I didn't mean for it to get to this," he said quietly.

Vanna nodded.

"You didn't know."

She forced up a smile for both of them.

"And truthfully? It felt...good, to talk about for once. Like I said, no one will tell me anything."

Mike nodded, then glanced down at the pink envelope in his hands. He read the name on it a few times, his mouth a grim line as he lost himself in thought.

"...Vanna?" he said after a moment.

She leaned down to pick up the empty coffee cup she dropped. Vanna perked upon hearing her name.

"Hmm?"

"...What if I could...find out?"

"Find out what?"

"What happened."

Vanna sat up again, clutching her mug in both hands once more. In all this talk about her family, the original talk of the strange happenings at Freddy's and the weird hallucinations he kept having fell to the wayside. Her chest panged again, and she took a moment to think it over.

"...I don't know," she admitted. "All of this...these visions and-and whatever the hell else that goes on in that place...it's a lot to take in as it is."

She looked back to the picture on the coffee table, then up to the one of herself and Vesper as children.

"And I don't think the Puppet, if it _is_ talking to you, knows what happened."

Mike simply nodded, not questioning her skepticism. As she pointed out herself, he already accepted how this sounded to a normal person.

"Why is that?" he asked.

"It didn't exist at Fredbear's," she answered. "Only two characters, remember? A yellow bear, Fredbear."

"...And a yellow rabbit?" Mike whispered, hardly daring to ask.

Vanna gave him a strange look.

"Yeah," she said. "How did you know?

She watched the color suddenly drain from Mike's face, though he tried to quickly regain composure. He managed a nod, though he shrunk back a bit. Vanna saw the gears moving in his head as he pieced a few things together.

"...Mike?"

"The new one," he whispered. "The-the suit they found. It's a goddamn _yellow rabbit_."

Mike let a few more pieces click into place.

"You said it was the same location?"

"Yeah," Vanna replied, trying to figure out his train of logic. "Mind filling me in?"

"It was found behind one of the walls the other day," Mike explained. "But...I played games there as a kid. Like, where it was found, by the bathrooms. It had to have been put there sometime after I stopped going."

He perked a bit, then looked back up at the Fredbear photo.

At the evidence of golden animatronics with five fingers on their hands. Mike winced a bit, a hand going to his right arm. Vanna perked up, certain she knew where he was going with this.

"You think it's the same rabbit."

"Yeah," he confirmed.

Mikee looked back to the envelope in his hands.

"And this…" he said looking it over again, "I don't know how it fits, either. But Puppet knows something, and it knows you, somehow."

Vanna glanced over to the coffee table, then reached over to pick up Mike's photograph. She flipped it to the back to read the crayon message. After examining it for a moment, something caught her eye.

"...I think I just figured it out."

Mike leaned over to look at the writing, curious now.

"How?"

Vanna pointed to his handwriting, where he once wrote, "Vanna, 10/22/91".

"How many girls in this city are named 'Vanna'?" she asked. "It's not common. And we share a birthdate."

Mike caught on quickly.

"_Then_ she'd compare you as a child to you as an adult."

"Right. And if...a-and if..."

Vanna choked up a little. She turned the picture around to show her own smiling face again. Mike looked up at her, finishing what she dared to say.

"...It's _her_?" he whispered.

She nodded as she moved a hand to her mouth. Vanna handed the photograph back to him, not wanting to look at it anymore. Mike took it from her, setting down the envelope long enough to retrieve his wallet. He opened it with a single, solemn nod, then put the photograph back in its rightful place.

Vanna gently picked up the envelope again. Once Mike had situated himself, she offered it to him.

"You open it."

"What?"

"Please."

She saw her best friend's hesitation, but he slowly nodded and took the envelope. Vanna turned away as she listened to him gently tearing at the seam, not wanting to see the contents. The sound of paper sliding against paper told her he held it in his hand.

"It's a ballerina," Vanna said, refusing to look at the card. She didn't attempt to hide the note of bitterness in her voice.

"...Yeah."

"And if you open it...five dollars, and a note to her 'perfect daughter'?"

Mike's silence spoke enough. Vanna looked over at him.

"Keep the money," she told him. "I don't want it."

"...You sure?"

"Yeah. I don't want that bitch's tainted cash."

"What about the card?"

Vanna glanced down at it. The front showed a young, curtsying ballerina in a blue tutu, with dark hair and porcelain skin tinted with rosy pink. Glitter covered the shoes and tutu, and the whole picture held a doll-like quality to it. Once upon a time, she and Vesper would have loved it.

And that gave her an idea.

Vanna took the card back, then stood up, walking over to her entertainment center. On one shelf, a cup filled with pens and other items stood, and from here, she retrieved a pair of scissors. After making sure none of her mother's horrible message tainted the side with the ballerina, she meticulously cut the card in half, then set the ballerina piece on the the coffee table.

Within seconds of setting it down, Vanna gave into her earlier temptation to tear the other half to shreds, each quick rip satisfyingly musical in her ears. Only when the pieces became too small to tear properly did she grab the envelope and shove them inside.

How she wished she did that years ago, but no time like the present.

She then held out the envelope to Mike, who took it with care as to not spill the pieces.

"Mind taking care of this for me?"

Mike smiled, taking some residual satisfaction from her prior savagery.

"Sure," he said, pushing himself up to stand.

"There's more coffee," Vanna said, turning back to the entertainment center.

"Want any more while I'm up?" he asked.

"Load it."

She dug through the pen cup to find a working one. Behind her, she listened to the familiar, calming sound of liquid filling ceramic mugs and the rummaging for cream and sugar. Like before, each of them used the time as relative privacy.

Vanna found the pen, clicked it open, and scribbled a bit just under her right thumb to make sure it worked. A glance behind her showed Mike got the creamer from the fridge, and was dumping it into her mug like she preferred. The sight made her smile a little as she knelt down in front of the coffee table.

The ballerina made her smile fade. Vanna flipped it over to the back, her left hand hovering over it with the pen.

_This is crazy,_ she thought. _She's not...but what if…?_

Vanna glanced up again, craning her neck over the couch until she saw Mike in the kitchen. His back was to her as he scooped out sugar for one of the mugs. Her eyes focused on his back pocket, to the wallet that contained her picture and crayon scribbles. She remembered, quite clearly, the strong emotional connection she felt when she first read those words. The innocent sounds of laughter or crying echoed in her mind again. Vanna glanced up over her shoulder to the picture of her and her sister in their tutus.

It pushed her to create the first pen stroke of her message.

Maybe this was pointless. Maybe...Mike just had nightmares. Thought he saw or heard something.

She kept writing.

Maybe he was right. Maybe he had a way to get her answers. At worst, nothing happened. At best...

Vanna flipped the card over when she finished. She pushed herself back up and took what had been his seat on the couch, laying back against the armrest. He came back a moment later, both mugs in hand, prepared to their respective preferences.

"Got my coffee?" she asked.

Mike gave her a little smirk and handed it to her. He still looked exhausted, he still bore traces of terror in his face and posture, and he probably had more horror stories to tell, but he looked a lot more like himself again. Mike took the seat she had prior.

"Do me a favor?" Vanna asked.

He turned to her.

"What is it?"

She pointed to the card.

"Take it with you tonight," she said, "and give it to Puppet."

Mike glanced over to where she pointed, and nodded.

"It's a promise."

Vanna gave him another smile.

"Now, since neither of us is getting any sleep anytime soon," she said, "you might as well tell me more."

Mike finished another sip of his coffee, then turned to her.

"Fuck, where to start..."

"How about from the beginning?"

He gave her a nod, and Vanna settled back against her throw pillows as he started the story of the week's horrors.


	20. Bunny

**Friday, November 12, 1993**

Mike's relaying of the week's events took the entire morning and then some as he backtracked some details, clarified others, and answered Vanna's questions when needed. Vanna, for the most part, let him speak, only interrupting him when she needed more information or if something he said didn't add up. The coffee table now sported several take-out boxes of half-eaten Chinese food scattered between the magazines and the coffee mugs. The remains of a few dead cigarettes filled the ashtray.

Vanna worked on her second cigarette as Mike nearly finished his third. The nicotine soothed him and kept him focused as his story finally cycled back to that morning.

"...And then I found that the damn rabbit was plugged in all night," Mike said, bitterly. "That's why my power kept draining so fast."

"And after that long talk with Puppet and god knows what else," Vanna said, flicking a bit of ash into the tray, "no wonder you look exhausted."

She took another drag, pondering a bit. She still wasn't sure how much of it she believed, but her promise and her own strange experiences a few hours ago kept any disproving words in check. Vanna perked suddenly, a thought coming to mind.

"That actually reminds me," she said, the smoke dancing with her words as she exhaled.

"About what?"

"Something you said earlier. That the things that chased you looked different."

After a moment of silence, Vanna glanced over at him. Mike simply stared ahead at the blank TV, his cigarette hovering partway to his lips. He frowned at his haunted reflection and looked away, lowering his hand to flick away a bit more ash.

"They were…" he started.

Like waking from a dream, once he stopped thinking about the hallucinations, the details faded from his mind. Mike mentally walked himself through the morning's horrors, recalling what he saw. They came back, piece by piece: sleeker shapes and different colors. Red circles on their cheeks. Bodies that shone with plastic, very much like...

"..._Toys_," Mike said quietly, his eyes widening a little.

Vanna quirked a brow.

"What do you mean?"

He went quiet again and turned away from her, suddenly interested in one of her ballerina trinkets.

"...Nothing."

"Mike," Vanna said firmly. "Be honest with me. What do you mean?"

She watched him bring the cigarette back to his lips to take a long drag, intentionally ignoring her. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but Vanna caught the look of pain that crossed his face, how it quickly disappeared with the smoke that left his lips.

Toys…

Vanna sucked on her own cigarette as she mulled over that word. Animatronics that looked like-

Her eyes widened a little as the penny dropped. That old place...weren't the models there called Toys? And if he was thinking of that old place, then...

"_Oh_. ...Oh, Mike…"

She caught his sudden interest in the floor, his shaking hand tightly clutching the remaining stub of his cigarette. Vanna shifted a little closer to him.

"Where he…?"

Mike slowly nodded. He took one last drag of his cigarette, then smothered the rest in the ashtray. He then reached up to rub his temples, though if it was fatigue or trying to force something back, she couldn't tell. Either way, Vanna decided to drop it. She watched her friend sit up a little, debating on whether or not to stand.

"...I should probably get to bed," Mike muttered, changing the subject.

Vanna shoved the rest of her cigarette into the ashtray, no longer wanting it.

"Good idea," she agreed. "Think you can sleep?"

He started to stand, then gave up, settling back into the couch.

"I don't know. Maybe."

Vanna glanced over to her VHS player to check the time. It was almost 3:00pm. She turned back to Mike. He already sank back into the throw pillows, the cloth and stuffing practically devouring him. Vanna pushed herself from the couch and quickly busied herself with closing some of the take-out boxes.

"You can stay here," she offered. "You're already practically sleeping on my couch."

Vanna got up to put boxes in the fridge, once more utilizing the time to give him space. She slowly came back to retrieve the empty ones to throw away. On her second return to the couch, Vanna noticed that he never answered her, that the room became oddly silent.

"...Mike?"

She circled the couch until she saw him again. Mike hadn't moved, save for his head lolling to one side against the couch cushions. Vanna admittedly felt relieved to see his chest rising and falling. It seemed that last night's events and this morning's stress finally caught up to him.

Vanna smiled a little. Looked like he was taking her offer this time. She carefully slipped off his shoes, then helped Mike lie down properly. He moved with her, a soft groan escaping his lips. Vanna got him settled and pulled one of her throws over his shoulders. She then took a seat on the other end of the couch, her remote in hand. The old TV whined a little as she turned it on and lowered the volume.

Vanna flipped the channel to a trashy soap opera, then settled down, trying to let her thoughts decompress for a short while. She occasionally shot a glance at Mike, content enough to keep an eye on him.

No matter how much she tried to immerse herself in crazy characters and ridiculous plot lines, Vanna's mind continued to cycle back to the morning's conversation, of the routine Mike went through each night, holing himself up in that office and defending himself from the Fazbear characters. That her past, and his, had something to do with what was happening now.

She checked on Mike again, relieved every time she saw his eyes closed, that he was getting even a little rest. Vanna carefully leaned over to better see him. The lines of fear started to return, highlighting the dark circles around his eyes, the thicker stubble forming around his face. Vanna gently moved a bit of hair from his face, then ran a hand over his cheek to try to ease those lines of pain.

"I promise," she said softly, "you won't be alone tonight."

Only the soft, gentle sound of his breathing answered her. Vanna gently kissed his temple, then carefully shifted back onto the other end of the couch, setting her legs right behind his. She rested her head against the armrest in time for a laugh track from the TV to catch her attention. Vanna looked over at Mike one more time before she turned back to the soap opera, trying once more to let it drown out her thoughts.

* * *

_Data retrieved._

_**07/15/1983 02:27:49pm**_

_A man in a security uniform ran forward. His face blurred as it passed. The image on the old footage barely caught the blue eyes and flecks of thin blond hair poking out from under his hat._

* * *

_Re-engaging prior retrieval._

_Retrieving corrupted files..._

_Charge: 100%_

_Charge complete._

_Auto update date and time: 11/12/1993 04:47:07pm_

_Standby mode engaged._

_Re-engaging retrieval._

_Standby mode disengaged._

_Facial recognition engaged._

_Auto update date and time: 11/12/1993 07:54:44pm_

_Uploading known database._

_Searching…_

_Match found._

_File 07/15/1983 02:27:49pm_

_Facial recognition match: 70.6%_

_Match undetermined._

_Engaging search for comparable file._

_**ERROR:**_ _Corrupted data._

_Attempting to retrieve._

_Retrieval processing._

_Re-engaging prior retrieval._

_Retrieving corrupted files..._

* * *

He entered the building as he usually did, just after 9:45pm. Normally by now, the cooks and waitstaff finished the base tidying up and headed out the door. He'd tell them hello as they passed by, exchange a friendly word or two, then bid them a good night and get right to it. Tonight, the door jingled to an empty room. Due to the necessary repairs earlier, the day staff got to the clean-up a lot sooner.

Perhaps he should have entered later, closer to when Mike got in. Not like there would be much to tidy up before the night shift.

The dining room still gleamed after he cleaned it up last night. Both stages hid the animatronics from sight behind their starry purple curtains. Over the years, the janitor learned the main stage had a mind of its own about whether they remained open or shut, and therefore paid them little heed. In the alcove by the bathrooms, the wall had been taken down completely, with three old video game cabinets now completely visible. Their subjects mimicked the stage placement: Bonnie, Freddy, and Chica games all in order. The overhead light in that alcove had been fixed too, showing the games still needed to be wiped down, and the floor around them cleaned.

Knowing the work to be done, the janitor made a quick run down the west hall to the supply closet.

As he got the closet door open, he heard another set of footsteps behind him. The janitor turned around, half-expecting Mike. The sight of the security uniform and gold badge relieved him at first, only to fade once he registered the broad chest, towering height, and confident walk of the uniform's owner.

Nothing like the short, wiry kid who barely kept a grip on his sanity.

"How's it been, old-timer?" the guard asked, approaching him.

As the guard came closer, the janitor picked out flecks of blond hair poking out from under his guard hat. Lines of middle age began to show on his face. But it was the man's keen blue eyes paired with his warm, weary smile that allowed the janitor to recognize him almost instantly.

"Well, well," he said. "Long time, no see, Gregory. Haven't seen you much since '86."

The janitor made a quick gesture to the halls around them. While many of the pictures hid them well, signs of old, chipping plaster, fading colors, and even the drawings themselves highlighted the building's age, some of them slowly turning yellow.

"Take a look around and you tell me," the janitor said.

Greg chuckled.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It's certainly changed over the years. Always has, come to think of it."

He glanced over at the cluster of drawings between the supply closet and the security office, his eyes briefly glancing at one towards the top. Greg then turned back to the janitor, offering him a sad smile.

"I'm just happy to see it again before it's gone completely. Lots of good times here. Lots of happy kids."

"Always made it worth it," the janitor said, quietly. "It's why I never left."

He grabbed the broom, then searched the shelves for a rag and a bottle of cleaner. Greg watched him locate the tools of his trade, staying back by the door frame of the closet.

"Kind of wish I never did," he said, "though I'm surprised you're still here, considering."

"Ain't gonna let a few mishaps drive me away," the janitor said, locating the cleaner. "Got too much history invested here to just up and leave. But I do wonder what brought you back."

"I'm subbing for the day shift temporarily," Greg answered. "Been a while since I've done an odd job."

"Called in?" the janitor asked.

"Actually saw an ad in the paper that the night shift was open and thought, 'what the heck', but it looks like the position's already been filled."

"Yep," the janitor replied. "Don't expect it to become available."

The necessary items acquired, the old man stepped out of the closet. Greg moved aside and shut the door for him, then followed the janitor down the hall.

"Why's that?" he asked.

"New kid refuses to be scared off, bless him."

"Scared off?" Greg asked, confused.

"Surprised you ain't heard, considering this place's reputation. Not many folks stick around these days."

The janitor turned back to Greg, eying him carefully, from his blue eyes and strong chin, down to his purple uniform and shiny gold badge.

"Why did you _really_ come back?" he asked.

Greg tilted his head.

"What do you mean?"

"Been here for over twenty years, Greg," the janitor replied. "I've watched people come and go. When they go, they're gone and don't come back. People don't retread here unless they want something."

The security guard frowned.

"And what could I _possibly_ want?"

"This place tends to leave scars," the janitor said, softly. "Old wounds that don't quite heal. Has a way of bringing people back."

"You would know, old-timer."

The janitor froze, but kept walking, giving no further reaction to the statement. Greg followed, keeping pace with him. The two men cleared the hallway, now passing by the prize corner and Pirate Cove. For a long while, the only sound came from two sets of shoes clacking on hard tile as they wove through the tables to get to the once-hidden alcove.

The video game cabinets stood before them, their screens dead. Dust and dirt surrounded them, untouched save for the footprints from when the janitor and Franklin moved the old animatronic last night, and from the crewmen who removed the rest of the old wall earlier. The janitor set the rag and spray bottle down by the alcove entrance. He then took the broom and started at the back of the little room, sweeping away the dust outline left by the animatronic. Greg once more leaned against the frame, watching him with his arms crossed.

"So why _did_ you stay?" he asked, watching the little swirls of dust gather into a pile.

"Already told you," the janitor replied. "For the kids."

"Kid_s_?" Greg asked, "or _kid_? That one little girl who-?"

The broom stopped for a second. The janitor shot him a glare, then resumed as if nothing happened.

"...Right," Greg said, quickly getting off the subject.

He watched the bristles shift against the hard tile, at how the dust and dirt pile gradually grew bigger. Slowly, he looked back up at the janitor.

"I saw it," Greg said after a moment. "That suit in the back room."

He was greeted with further silence as the old man moved over to clean between the video game cabinets, practically digging the dirt away. Greg uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to the old man.

"...It's because of her, isn't it?" he asked gently.

The janitor ignored him. He set the broom down for a moment and stared at the black and white tile that now poked out from under the dirt. The old man then glanced up at the video game cabinets, at the dust and grime that covered the screens. Greg watched him, more concerned with each deliberate move of avoidance. He reached to place a hand on the old man's shoulder.

"...Is that why you stay?" Greg asked.

The janitor pulled away from him.

"You should go," he muttered. "Waylon don't like it when people stay over their shift."

Greg took the hint with a small nod.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said, softly, turning to go. "It was nice to see you again…"

He heard the sound of bristles against tile again as he stepped out of the alcove and towards the front door.

"...William."

* * *

_**Summer 1971**_  
_  
The purple curtains hung over the stage, closed and dotted with gold glitter that caught the light. Several other children from Debbie Jefferson's birthday party took over the games, while others finished their pizza slices. The bright colors of the room blurred a bit as she kept her focus on one thing: the little girl ahead of her. Her black pigtails trailed in long ribbons behind her as the skirt of her pale blue party dress bobbed with each hasty step._

"_I'm gonna catch you, Vesper!" she exclaimed._

_"Nuh-uh!" Vesper called back._

_She ducked around a table, picking up pace. Vanna chased after her, trying to catch her twin. Vesper tried to duck around the table, only for her twin to dive at her from behind, her hand outstretched to tag her. Vanna miscalculated, and both girls tumbled onto the hard tile._

"_Not fair!" Vesper whined._

"_Is so."_

_Vesper crawled out from underneath her twin. Vanna stood up and brushed down her skirt, before darting off towards the stage._

"_You're it!"_

_"Hey!"_

_Vesper scrambled to her feet to chase after her twin. With a deep breath and a small cough, she dug her Mary Janes into the tile, her shoes clacking loudly as she tried to catch up to Vanna. Vanna glanced behind her. Even above the noise of the games and the other children laughing, she heard her sister approaching. With a laugh, she made a sharp turn away from the stage and headed back for one of the tables._

"_Vanna-!"_

_Vanna ignored her, wanting to stay ahead of her twin._

"_I-" Vesper pulled a fist up to her mouth to cough. "Sl-slow down-!"_

_The clacking behind her slowed, and her sister's coughing got her attention. Vanna skid to a stop and turned around. Vesper's coughing grew louder, interspersed with gasping, painful noises. Familiar with this, Vanna quickly scanned the room for Mrs. Jefferson. She saw her breaking up an argument between Debbie and another little girl that she didn't know._

"_Miss!" she cried. "Vesper needs her air medicine!"_

_Mrs. Jefferson froze upon hearing that. She quickly shooed Debbie and her friend to go play with a warning to be nice, then turned around to Vanna. Not far behind, she saw Vesper still in a coughing fit._

"_Stay with your sister, Vanna," she told her. "I'll be right there."_

_Vanna nodded and did as she was told. Mrs. Jefferson immediately looked for the small supply bag Mrs. Belrose left when she dropped the girls off to the party. Upon finding it, she dug out the inhaler, and quickly pieced it together. She then hurried over to the twins. Vanna sat down beside Vesper. She was running her hand over her sister's back to try to help with the coughing as their chaperone approached._

_Mrs. Jefferson knelt down and carefully placed the inhaler, giving Vesper a quick puff. Upon breathing in the medicine, Vesper's coughing quickly ceased. She took another one, and after a moment, she was breathing normally again. Mrs. Jefferson offered a hand to Vesper and helped her stand._

"_Are you okay, sweetheart?" she asked._

_Vesper slowly nodded._

"_What happened?"_

"_We were playing," Vanna explained._

_"Playing what?"_

"_Tag."_

_Mrs. Jefferson frowned._

"_You're not supposed to run like that," she said. "Why were you running? Do you two need more tokens for the games?"_

_Vesper shook her head._

"_The only games left are over _there_," she said, pointing over by the stage._

_Mrs. Jefferson sighed, but agreed. The only games left were fighting games beyond the maturity of the twins._

"_You can sit at the tables and play with your party favors," she suggested, "but don't run."_

_Neither twin liked that option, but nodded. Mrs. Jefferson caught their shared disappointment._

"_We're going to have cake very soon," she said, trying to lift their spirits. "Why don't you two go take a quick walk around the room? We'll probably be ready by the time you finish."_

_Vanna nodded and took her sister's hand. Vesper took it and slowly tagged along with her._

"_And I mean it," Mrs. Jefferson called after them. "No more running."_

_Behind them, Mrs. Jefferson walked over to their table to put the inhaler away. She then started a round to check on her other young guests. Once out of her earshot, Vesper tugged on her twin's hand. She didn't want to just walk, and she knew her sister didn't, either._

"_Hey," she said. "Wanna play hide-and-seek?"_

_Vanna thought for second._

"_Sure."_

_"Okay. I'm gonna hide!"_

"_But _I _wanna hide!" Vanna protested._

"_You won tag. _I _get to hide!"_

_Faced with this logic, Vanna nodded in agreement._

"_Okay," she said. "I'll count to twenty."_

_She let go of her sister's hand and walked over to the nearest table. She crossed her arms over the edge, and buried her face in them so Vesper knew she wouldn't peek._

"_One...two...three…"_

_She heard her sister's giggle as her Mary Janes clacked against the checkered tile. The other noises around her drowned them out after a few seconds, but Vanna at least knew where to start. She kept counting until she reached twenty, then uncovered her eyes. Upon turning around, she saw the glittering curtains. Over to the left, a rainbow mural covered the wall, a smiling sun shining down on some of the games. At the end of the rainbow, towards a far corner, she saw a door cracked open slightly, leaving a dark gap in the colors._

_Vanna took a few steps toward the door, but stopped, remembering that room was off-limits. She decided to look elsewhere for Vesper._

_She started with the video game cabinets along the rainbow wall, carefully weaving around other kids as she checked between them. Finding no twin sister there, she tried under the tables and eventually made her way to the glass prize counter. Beside it stood two tall red helium tanks and a bunch of balloons tied to a small Fredbear statuette. The end of each balloon looped around his wrists to keep them in place, and the moveable fingers clutched the strings to make the little statuette appear to hold them._

_No Vesper beside the little Fredbear, or behind him._

_Vanna tried under the tables again, then the video games on the other side of the room. After checking the girls' bathroom, she tried the small alcove nearby._

_Only games and other children._

_Vesper was better at this than she thought._

_Maybe she moved to another hiding place when she wasn't looking. Vanna checked under the tables again, but still didn't find her sister. With a frown, she wandered around the room, trying to find anywhere else she could have missed._

_Her search led her down one of the long halls. To her right, she found an empty supply closet. Further down, to her left, she found a wooden door. Trying the handle showed it was locked. Disappointed, Vanna headed back towards the main room, hoping the other hallway might have something._

_Aside from the kitchen and a small office beside it, she found nothing of interest at the end of the hallway, not even another door. Only posters of Fredbear and his bunny friend, some drawings of them tacked up on the walls between the posters._

_Vanna headed back into the main area. She surveyed the room, trying to think of where else her sister could possibly hide. Maybe Vesper got bored and came out._

_As she walked back toward the party table, her eyes fell upon the stage with its purple curtains coated in gold glitter. Vanna suddenly realized the one place she hadn't looked yet._

_She ran over to the edge of the stage, glancing up to the sparkling curtains. They swayed a little, almost beckoning her to come inside. The three steps leading up to the stage practically welcomed her to come forward. Taking a quick glance over her shoulder, Vanna checked to make sure no one saw her. Her other friends were still playing the games, Mrs. Jefferson spoke with a staff member, and the only other waiter was busy collecting plastic glasses and empty pizza trays to take back to the kitchen._

_With no one looking, Vanna climbed the steps onto the stage and quickly crawled under the curtains. She saw only darkness, but listened carefully for her twin._

"_Vesper?" she asked._

_No answer._

_The stage around her smelled...strangely sweet, like sugar and strawberries. There was a thickness to the scent, a pleasant vanilla undertone._

_Frosting? Cake?_

_A little bit of light shone through the curtains, enough for Vanna to pick out two tall silhouettes in front of her. Craning her neck, she saw the outline of a top hat and round ears on the one to her right: Fredbear. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she started to pick out his snout, his bowtie. Beside him, she picked out tall ears on the other figure, recognizing it as the yellow rabbit she called Bunny. She never remembered its true name._

_Vanna carefully slipped between them, not bothered at all by the dark or the animatronics. The cake smell grew stronger, then faded as she got behind them. If her sister was here, she'd find her. Music began to play, and outside the curtain, Vanna heard a man begin an announcement and urge the birthday party to take their seats._

"_Vesper!" Vanna whispered urgently. "Come on, we need to go!"_

_No answer. The music outside grew louder, and mechanical clicks and whirs began to permeate the stage space. If she stayed any longer, she'd get caught._

"_Fine!" Vanna exclaimed. "I'm going. I'm not gonna get in trouble!"_

_She made her way back to the animatronics, carefully slipping between them. Around her, the clicking and whirring grew louder…_

* * *

Vanna's eyes shot open, seeing nothing but blurred color. She tried to move, but every nerve froze solid as old, remembered pain shot through her body.

Everything hurt.

Why did everything hurt?

Under her nose, the sweet scents of vanilla cake and strawberry icing still lingered, stronger than before. Normally, the sweetness made her mouth water at the thought of consuming such treats. Right now, all of her saliva glands shriveled back from dryness.

Over the years, her memory of that night came in incoherent flashes between the cake, the darkness, and the game of hide-and-seek that never properly ended. But moments ago, that night came back to her, as fresh in her mind as the day it happened.

Until she woke up.

After a moment, the paralysis wore off. Vanna quickly sat up, taking in a long, harsh breath that ended in a choking cough. She felt the familiar sink of couch cushions underneath her, with her throw pillows at her back. Her eyes watered, and when she reached up to wipe her face, her cheeks were already wet. Vanna rubbed her eyes to dry them. Smudges of mascara and silver eyeshadow covered her fingertips when she pulled them away.

What happened that night after she crawled onto that empty stage?

Why did her body hurt like this?

Vanna registered a bit of noise, then shifting colors. She turned to the side and noticed the TV was still going. After fumbling for a moment for the remote, she turned it off, then slowly took in her living room again. Ballet trinkets, VHS tapes, books. The picture of herself and her sister in their white tutus. A glance at the VHS player showed the time was now 9:34pm.

On the other end of the couch, something long and warm rested against her legs. Vanna leaned forward a little more to better glimpse a purple form gently rising and falling from under one of her throw blankets. At the other end of the couch, Mike remained asleep.

Vanna shifted a bit, leaning over to check on him. He breathed deeply, traces of exhaustion carved over his features. The bags under his eyes still retained their dark color. His fingers tightly gripped one of her throw pillows, clawing into the thick fabric. However long he'd been asleep, Vanna doubted it did him any good.

She carefully settled back against the armrest, not daring to move lest she wake him. Vanna shot Mike another glance, just watching his shoulder rise and fall with his chest. Only his deep, quiet breathing overpowered the sound of her own heartbeat.

He needed to rest, to not go in for another night, having already survived five nights of this shit.

Five nights at Freddy's, where the animatronics came to life and showed him hidden secrets and spoke to him through his thoughts.

And he felt compelled to help them.

To help _her_.

Her eyes fell upon the ballerina card on the coffee table, before they tilted up to the Fredbear picture on the entertainment center. Vanna closed her eyes, trying to remember more of that night, of hide-and-seek, of the darkness backstage, of her sister's giggles and clacking shoes. Nothing came to mind beyond the smell of cake, Fredbear and Bunny's silhouettes, and the clicking and whirring as the animatronics slowly powered on for the show.

Only lingering bits of pain clued her in that something happened afterwards. Marks on her back burned. Similar pain at her scalp shot over the base of her skull.

An accident.

_Her_ accident.

One that her parents refused to talk about.

Frustrated, Vanna carefully sat up. She slowly reeled her legs in, feeling them slide between the coolness of the couch and the warmth of Mike's back. With extreme care, she lifted one leg over the edge of couch, pressing her toes firmly into the floor. Gripping the armrest, she turned her body to move the other leg up and over her sleeping friend, the movement fluidly completed with remembered grace from her childhood ballet lessons. Once both feet touched the floor, she pushed herself up, then rubbed the rest of the sleep from her eyes.

She glanced back over at the VHS clock, then over to her phone. At 9:39pm, she had plenty of time to give the Sanctuary a heads up...but should she _really_ do this? Vanna shot another glance to Mike. While he remained still, his furrowed brow spoke of troubled thoughts. That alone ended her debate.

Vanna walked over to her phone and picked up the receiver. She dialed a number and listened to four rings before her manager picked up.

"Hey, Felix," Vanna said. "Listen, I'm not going to be in tonight."

"That sucks. What's going on?"

She felt her scars burn again, smelled the cake under her nose.

"...I'm not feeling well," she replied, honestly.

"Sorry to hear that," Felix said. "Feel better, okay?"

"Thanks. I'll make it up to you."

Vanna didn't wait for his reply, just set the phone back in its cradle.

A shifting sound caught her attention. Vanna turned to look at Mike, her heart stopping for a beat. A soft, fragile sound passed his lips, and his body tensed as though in pain. She tiptoed over to his end of the couch and carefully knelt down beside him. Whatever horrifying thing he dreamed of, it passed as quickly as it came.

Vanna gently leaned over and brushed a bit of hair from his face again. Mike made no sound or movement of acknowledgement. Content he'd stay asleep for the moment, Vanna pushed herself back onto her feet and headed for the bathroom, promising herself to be quick, and to keep the door open a crack to listen for him. She needed a shower to clear her head, and to determine how the rest of the night would go.


	21. Partners

_He once more stood in the hallway he saw that morning._

_Speckled walls. Checkered tiles. Children's drawings. Accents in blue-green and purple. Silver stars strung up like Christmas lights. A door at the other end._

_The _other _place._

_Mike stepped forward. Unlike earlier, when the hallway stretched with no end in sight, it retained its proper length as he walked. With every step, the lights above faded. Faint whispers tickled his ears. The drawings on either side of the hall changed. The crayon bodies slowly disappeared. The faces darkened, along with any distinguishing features, like hair or hats or ears._

_Mike kept walking._

_Up ahead, the door came closer. He knew before he saw it that the sign on it said, "Parts and Service". He stole a quick glance to the wall to his left. The few drawings here showed nothing but black circles. Mike took another step, and the circles grew bigger. His stopped for a moment, watching the circles grow. As he stared at them, Mike noticed a faint white dot forming in the center of each circle. Slowly, two white lines grew from each little dot, expanding out in different lengths and angles._

_Like clocks._

_Once more, he had the thought of running out of time._

_Mike looked back to the door. The walls had darkened so much, he barely made out the door's outline. He quickened his pace to get to it. Behind him, he heard clicks, whirs, and hisses. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the Toy animatronics blocking his path. The hallway behind them became an dark, empty void. They didn't chase him like before, but they all stared expectantly. Mike turned back to the door and carefully stepped inside._

_There was no room behind it, only darkness. Something hung in the center, with only enough light around it to make out a form. Several disembodied white clock hands gleamed, then disappeared back into the dark._

_Mike carefully approached the thing in the center. As he got closer, he picked out the silhouette of a man._

_A_ hanging _man._

_Something gleamed at his right wrist. The gleam grew brighter, until the only thing Mike saw anymore was white_.

* * *

The smell of coffee lured him from his sleep. Mike slowly opened his eyes. In front of him, he saw a tissue box and a small stack of magazines. Behind them, VHS tapes and ballet trinkets blurred into view. He carefully pushed himself up, closing his eyes in an attempt to catch the last few seconds of sleep.

He barely registered what he dreamed. Something about black clocks and time and running out of it.

"Evening, sleepyhead."

Mike turned to see Vanna sitting at the other end of her couch, a mug of coffee cradled in her hands. Her drying ponytail hung down her back, parts of it sticking to her large purple sweater. She wore black slacks similar to his, and black sneakers. Her face had fresh make-up, though subtler than usual save for her trademark purple lips.

Vanna let him sit up completely before she gestured to another mug on the coffee table. Mike reached for it, his fingers tightly gripping the ceramic handle. He lifted it to his lips and took a sip. It cooled in the time she poured it, but the coffee retained just enough heat to not be undrinkable sludge.

"I did some thinking while you were asleep," Vanna said, after giving him a moment to wake up. "I changed my mind."

Mike stopped mid-sip and turned to her, a little confused.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

His best friend glanced down to the front half of the greeting card on the table, at the doll-like ballerina and her glittery tutu. Vanna made a small gesture towards it.

"I'm giving this to Puppet myself."

Mike blinked at her, wondering if he heard her correctly.

"Give it to…"

He trailed off as his brain slowly processed this information. Vanna saw the exact moment when it clicked. His pupils shrunk and his eyelids retracted so far back that his eyes threatened to pop straight from his head.

"Vanna, you can't-!"

She didn't look at him, just took another sip of her coffee.

"The _hell_ I can't," Vanna said firmly, once she lowered the mug from her lips. "You're not going alone."

"This is crazy!"

"And you going back _isn't_?" she shot back.

Mike struggled to form words as he stared at her, his gaze particularly drawn to her purple sweater and black slacks. The longer he stared at them, the more he noticed how they crudely mimicked his uniform. He clutched his mug tighter to try to keep his hands from shaking.

"Vanna," he managed, "...do you even know what you're getting into?"

"All kinds of crazy shit, if what you told me is true," Vanna replied.

She took a long sip to finish off her coffee, letting the silence linger for a moment. The ceramic mug gently clinked against the glass tabletop as she set it down.

"I'm going with you."

"No."

Mike reached to grab the card, to take away her only excuse to join him. Just as his fingers brushed against the glitter, Vanna snatched it off the table. She crossed her arms, the card safely tucked away under her bust.

"Mike," she said, sternly. "You've been asleep for almost seven hours, and you look like you haven't gotten any rest at all."

A frown.

"Tell me honestly: how do you feel right now?"

"Vanna-!"

"Mike."

Her voice softened a little, more of a request now than a demand.

"Answer me."

Mike lowered his gaze to his mug, where not even a silhouette showed up in the dark liquid. Even without a mirror, he knew he probably looked just as bad, if not worse, than he felt.

"...Exhausted," he muttered, before taking another sip.

"Exactly. And it's not going to get any better tonight."

Vanna uncrossed her arms, though she kept a tight grip on the card.

"Besides," she continued, "this isn't...it's not just about _you_ anymore."

She ran her thumb over the glitter on the ballerina's shoes. Mike caught something in her face, a flicker of emotion that faded as she set the card in her lap. Her fingers lazily ran over the rough texture.

"...I started to remember that night," she whispered. "I'm...feeling things I don't know how to explain."

Vanna turned back to him.

"I need to do this, Mike. I need answers. ...Hell, _you_ of all people should understand."

Mike lifted his mug to take another sip, stopping just before his lips touched the ceramic. He _hated_ that she was right. After a moment, Mike took a long drink solely to avoid looking at her, then set his empty mug down beside hers. The green numbers on his watch caught his attention as he did.

10:46pm.

Only an hour left before work.

He needed to go home, to shave, to clean up as best he could…Mike stood up just enough to dig into his pocket for his keys, only to grimace when he found both of his side pockets empty. A jingling sound caught his attention.

Mike looked beside him to see Vanna nonchalantly holding his keys.

"Hey!"

"I had to make sure you didn't leave without me."

Vanna held them up.

"Catch," she said softly.

Mike held out his palm expectantly. A single key flew from her hand to his, having already been separated from the others. He instantly recognized the round shape as his apartment key.

"Vanna…"

He watched her pocket the rest of his keys in response, an assurance he'd come back to her. Vanna then reached to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Go home, Mike," she said quietly. "Get a shower, shave, and come back. We'll eat, and then we'll go."

Her fingers tightened.

"_Together_."

Mike hesitated, but knew better than to push her away. He gave her a nod and slowly started to stand, shifting out of her grip. Just as he got to his feet, something soft and warm suddenly clutched his fingers. Mike turned back to Vanna, trying to read her face. She tried to keep her face stoic, but the faint tremor on her lips, the concerned look in her eyes, gave her away.

"...You're _absolutely_ sure about this?" he whispered.

Vanna gently squeezed his hand.

"If anything, I'll be your second set of eyes."

Mike blinked, but nodded.

"...Bring a flashlight," he said softly.

Vanna gave him a faint smile and let him go.

"I will."

* * *

The blue Suzuki FX pulled into the Freddy's parking lot earlier than usual, at about 11:35pm. Neither the driver nor passenger spoke the entire way. Vanna killed the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition. She casually tossed them back to Mike once they both stepped out of the car. He took a moment to re-attach his apartment key.

Above them, the old sign flickered with age. Vanna watched it for a moment, at how the lights in Freddy's eyes seemed to linger a little longer whenever the rest of the sign faded.

"Creepy," she muttered.

Mike didn't answer. She turned to him, only to see him staring ahead at the front door.

"Mike?"

He blinked and turned to her.

"Sorry," he said, quietly. "Memory."

"What of?"

"Nothing."

Vanna frowned, not believing him. Still, best not to press it right now. Mike put a hand to his waist, where his personal flashlight hung, having left the broken one in the back room that morning. Slowly, he turned to Vanna.

"Ready?" he asked.

Vanna held up her purse, which contained the card, her own flashlight and spare batteries.

"When you are."

Mike nodded and stepped forward with Vanna at his side. Carefully, he dug out the establishment key and reached to open the front door.

* * *

_**Friday, November 13, 1987**_

_He jolted awake to the morning sun creeping in through his window, the November wind rattling the panes. Mike stared at the ceiling as an uncertain fog hung over him, a distinct dread creeping through his veins. The very universe held still, knowing that something, somewhere, was off._

Wrong_._

_His stomach turned with distinct pain. His ribs ached with stilted breath, and his heart stung with every beat._

_Mike knew this feeling. He felt it only once before, but it greeted him like an old friend who only ever came bearing bad news. He remembered that night ten years ago, how he woke with no rhyme or reason to the November wind rattling outside his window._

_The night his life changed forever._

_The night he woke up alone._

_He glanced over to the digital clock on the bedside table. It was almost 10:30am._

_From across the room, he heard voices crawling up the stairs, hushed tones that barely made it up to his bedroom. Mike shoved the covers away and pushed himself up. He glanced around the room, at the Alice Cooper posters hastily tacked to the walls, the stack of old school binders on his desk, a set of clothes hanging over the back of the chair._

_Mike slid from the bed, his toes finding the soft rug beside it. He bit his lip as images of his childhood bedroom flashed around him._

Blue walls with their shelves of toys and model rocket ships. His door hung slightly ajar as voices echoed up the stairs, barely heard above the wind outside. A sudden chill pushed against his skin as he pulled himself out from under his warm covers, his bare feet turning to ice against the hardwood floor.

_The room turned back to normal. Mike took a breath, and readied himself to leave the room._

His stomach turned when he took that first step, his skin tightening in pain as though someone grabbed the skin just under his ribs and at his gut and yanked as hard as they could. The feeling left him vulnerable and out of breath, but it passed a second later. His heart froze with dread, and from somewhere deep within, a very strong urge to cry washed over him as he stepped toward the voices beyond the door.

_From down the stairs, he heard Moira talking in her Irish brogue. He tried to pick out her words, but they jumbled together in a hushed mess. The occasional pause she took to listen told him she spoke to someone on the phone. The sense of déjà vu returned as he made his way toward the door._

Every step cut with cold until he reached the bedroom door. With a careful grip, he grabbed his doorknob, his fingers tightening around the cold metal ball. Slowly, he turned the knob, minding the creaking hinges as he pulled the door back. He opened it just enough to crawl out, and he stayed down, making his way to the railing on the stairs. He sat against the wall where it met the railing.

_"...No," he heard Moira say. "He hasn't...is his car there? ….Well, go look! It's light blue, small, sort of boxy looking. A...Sue-something. Su-su-ki? It's a 1983 model. Yes, I'll hold while you check."_

_Mike slipped toward the stairs, keeping his footsteps quiet and careful. He took a few quiet steps, gripping the railing for dear life. About halfway down, he barely caught Moira's pink terry cloth robe nervously shifting from the living room, the phone cord swaying beside her. Her free hand nervously clawed into her brown hair, her long nails tangling through locks that hung over her back._

The conversation faded in and out, but he listened as his babysitter spoke with the officers. He picked out a few things, but they told him everything he needed to know: the roads were wet. The brakes gave out. The car broke through the overpass.

No one survived._  
_  
_Moira turned back towards the foyer and stairs, in time to catch her teenaged foster son looking down at her. Her fingers caught in her hair as she hastily pulled her hand away._

"_...Ma?" Mike asked._

_Moira started to answer him, then held up a finger as whomever she was speaking to came back on the line. She turned away to continue speaking._

"_Yes, I'm still here. It is? I told you-no, he has to be there. ...Are you _daft_, man? He wouldn't just drive it there and leave it!"_

_Mike finished his descent down the stairs._

"_Ma?"_

_Moira perked, then turned back to Mike._

"_Michael," she said, quietly, ignoring the phone for a second. "I didn't - I thought you were already at work, love."_

_Work._

_Did he even _have _work today?_

_The thought took a backseat to the dread that hung over him since he woke that morning. It didn't matter, he decided. Mike had far more important matters on his mind._

...Where's my mom and dad?

"_...Where's Jeremy?"_

_Moira started to say something, then gently shushed him away as she listened to the other person on the phone. She shook her head, then reached up to rub her temples._

_Mike headed back upstairs to quickly get dressed. Pants, shirt, sweater. Socks and boots to protect against the November chill. Time blurred as he tightened the laces, barely recalling anything from the last few minutes save for what he picked up from Moira's half of the phone call._

_That something happened to Jeremy._

_That he might be missing._

_Once dressed, Mike stumbled down the stairs like a drunken beast just barely finding its feet again. Moira was still on the phone, but the noisy footsteps on the stairs caused her to turn to Mike as he reached the last step. She took a brief moment from the phone call to gesture toward the kitchen, encouraging him to eat something, before the person on the other end got her attention again. Moira tried to remain calm, but grew more frantic as she listened to each word._

"_You listen here!" she demanded. "My boy wouldn't just up and leave like that!"_

_Mike wanted to stay and try to comfort her, but he knew better than to linger. He briefly caught an awkward male voice attempting to assuage his foster mother as he passed, but heard no decipherable words. Mike obediently went to the kitchen, rummaging loudly just to assure Moira that he complied with her request. His stomach grimaced at the thought of food, and he wanted answers more than he wanted sustenance. Mike compromised by getting a glass of milk from the fridge, practically choking it down as he caught the next bit of Moira's growing wrath._

"_You find him!" he heard her scream from the living room. "You find him _now _or so help me-!"_

_He didn't hear the rest of the conversation as he made his way to the garage. Jeremy had their shared car, and Da was at work, which left only one option to get to him._

_He hadn't used his bike since he graduated a few months ago. The pedals resisted against the cold chain as he urged the bike forward. The garage door groaned as it lifted, revealing an empty driveway where the light blue Suzuki FX usually sat when not in use._

_Cold air zoomed past him as Mike turned out of the driveway and down the street._

_Time flashed in his mind, that he needed to hurry, to just...be there._

_To see his brother's fate._

_And hope the worst hadn't happened_.


	22. Bonnie

_Power source undetected._

_Charge: 100%_

_Auto update date and time: 11/12/1993 10:03:54pm_

_Retrieval processing._

_Running watch_ _

_Running sound_location_

_Running facial_recognition_

_Running Fredbear_Pizza14062_

_Awaiting command._

_Command received._

_Activating standby mode_.

* * *

**Friday, November 12, 1993  
**  
Overhead, the door jingle played, welcoming Mike and Vanna into the old establishment. Vanna stepped in first, quickly taking in the old, gleaming floors, the pressed tablecloths and party hats, the fading walls and old posters. Upon approaching the hostess stand, everything suddenly looked…

Bright again.

Brand new.

Unseen children laughed. Familiar _beeps_ and _jings_ and game over music from the video games echoed with the dismembered voices. Towards the back, at the table closest to the backstage area, she saw two figures sitting in the corner by the stage. Vanna took a step closer to try to see them better.

Two boys, both with dark, straight hair, the shorter of the two crying. The older boy protectively held the other close, their shared embrace hiding their faces. Something gleamed at the older boy's right wrist...and with the shine, both boys vanished.

The laughter died, and the colors drained, leaving the old restaurant pale and decrepit once more. Vanna blinked, then glanced over to Mike. She recognized the look on his face from that morning, and knew he saw something too.

"...Did you see them?" she asked, mostly to verify they just shared the same vision.

"Two little boys?" Mike whispered.

Vanna nodded to confirm. Already, she felt her remaining doubts of his story fade, and tried to mentally prepare herself for what else might be in store for them tonight. Mike perked suddenly, hearing a familiar voice gently echo in his mind.

_You brought her here_.

He immediately looked over to the prize counter, at the glass case and the present box sitting beside it.

"No," he corrected, heading for the box. "She came with me."

A gentle set of footsteps trailed behind him.

"Mike, who are you talking to?"

Mike turned around to Vanna, then glanced around the room, looking for that familiar set of pinprick eyes and edge of a tragic smile. When he confirmed the only other moving creature in the room was Vanna, he looked back at the box.

"Why can't she hear you?"

Before the Puppet could answer, the sound of footsteps on tile put both humans at attention, their heads snapping to the little hallway by the bathrooms. Vanna watched as an old black man came from there, dressed in old blue coveralls and holding an old rag and bottle of cleaner. He wore an old hat to match his coveralls. A salt and pepper beard inched over his dark chin.

"You're here earlier than usual, ki-"

The janitor stopped to glance up at Vanna, his brown eyes quickly scanning her over. His face lit up for a second, before he shook his head.

"What?" Vanna asked.

"Nothin'. Just an old man's memory gettin' itself confused."

The janitor quickly turned to Mike.

"Wasn't aware you were bringing a friend," he said simply.

"I wasn't planning on it," Mike replied with a frown. "She insisted."

He glanced to Vanna.

"Seems I'm not the only one looking for something."

Vanna moved closer to Mike.

"I'm helping him tonight," she firmly told the janitor, "and before you ask, I know what I'm getting into."

"Do you now?" the old man asked.

Vanna nodded and turned to Mike.

"We had a _long_ talk."

The janitor nodded and smirked a bit.

"Unorthodox," he said, a note of amusement creeping into his voice, "and definitely against the rules."

"Fuck the rules," Mike said, crossing his arms. "If I'm making it tonight...I'm going to need help."

"Smart," the janitor said.

He looked between them, lingering on Vanna for a moment before he turned back to the night guard.

"But just so we're clear," he continued, "I ain't gonna snitch, but I ain't gonna cover up any mishaps, either. So far as I'm concerned, she was here after I left."

Mike gave him a quick, uneasy nod. Vanna gently put a hand on his shoulder to try to soothe him.

"That's a risk we'll take," she said, looking back at the janitor.

The janitor nodded, then pointed down the hall.

"Left your things in the security office, Mike," he said. "Figured you'd want them if you came back."

Mike instinctively felt at his empty pocket for his badge. Upon finding nothing, he simply nodded again.

"Thanks."

"Now onto some more important matters."

The janitor gestured for them to follow and headed toward the back room. Mike hesitated, then followed, with Vanna matching her pace to his. The three of them silently walked to the employees-only room.

"Not even gonna ask how your night went," the janitor said as they passed by the stage. "If this morning was any indication, those critters ran you through the ringer."

"That's one way of putting it," Mike muttered.

He bit back a yawn and wished he felt more rested than he did. The janitor stopped suddenly, then turned to Vanna, an observant look in his face.

"And I'm guessing you're here because of it," the old man noted. "Keep this one out of too much trouble."

He gestured toward Mike. Vanna glanced at her friend, then turned back to the janitor. She nodded to confirm and gripped her purse tighter as the janitor turned back to Mike.

"I'll get right to it, then," he said. "Mike, that new suit. Did it give you any trouble?"

Mike shook his head.

"No."

Not _yet_, anyway, now that he knew it needed to charge.

"Didn't mess with it?"

"No."

"Good," the janitor replied. "Don't."

He turned to keep leading them to the back room, occasionally glancing back to ensure they followed. Mike caught tells in his face of a numbness he was only too familiar with, that something haunted the old man. Vanna made sure to take in the room around her as they walked, everything from the position of the curtains to the number of party hats on the tables. She lingered behind Mike a bit, but kept up a decent pace. Mike frowned again, his arms still crossed in front of him as he walked.

"Why not?" he asked.

"I'll get to that," the old man answered. "First off, you were actin' funny 'round it last night. That you saw it somewhere. Still willin' to share?"

Vanna stopped just behind Mike, who now focused solely on the stage curtains beside them. Mike's fingers dug into his sleeves, loosening only when he chose to answer.

"...You said it has history," he said, quietly.

"Yep," came the janitor's reply, "and from what I got last night, you do too."

"He's not the only one," Vanna muttered.

She looked ahead towards the old man, who now disappeared into the back room. For a brief second, she saw a painted rainbow leading into the door. Vanna blinked, wondering if she simply imagined it. When she saw only a gray speckled wall, she dismissed it for the moment, before she realized the janitor never answered her.

Mike started to walk again, his best friend keeping pace right behind him.

"There's not much to tell," he explained, stepping in behind the janitor. "I was babysitting for a birthday party a few years ago. It was _there_, but it didn't do anything unusual."

"Freddy bit you," the janitor replied. "I remember you said that."

Mike winced and felt his arm throb.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Broke my damn arm."

Vanna entered last. Like before, her eyes scanned the room to try to familiarize herself with it as much as possible. She shuddered a little at all the disembodied heads lining the shelves.

"But that's not important right now," she said, turning to the janitor. "It's the _other_ suit, right?"

The old man nodded and moved behind the table, allowing his younger companions a bit more room. Mike slipped to the side, allowing Vanna to better see the strange yellow Bonnie lying before them.

_The feel of plush as her bare arm rubbed against the animatronic's leg. The dark, empty stage. The smell of cake just under her nose._

"_Vesper! Come on, we need to go!"_

_Outside music lured her away. She never found out if Vesper was hiding there._

"_Fine! I'm going. I'm not gonna get in trouble!"_

_Mechanical clicks and whirs. A humming sound of machines powering on._

_And then_

...

"...Bunny," Vanna whispered.

She stared at its face, almost willing it to answer her. The janitor watched her carefully, as if waiting for something. When Vanna's attention remained on the rabbit, he shook his head.

"Hmm?" the janitor asked.

Vanna glanced up to him.

"That's what we called him," she replied. Vanna examined the wiring poking out of the ragged tears in its face, then down to its chest where a single button barely clung to the animatronic costume. "I don't know if he had another name."

"Called 'er Spring Bonnie backstage," the janitor told her. "To the kids, she was just Bonnie, long before the other one came 'round."

"She-?" Vanna started.

"Who _cares_ what it was called," Mike said, after taking a glance to his watch. "Why was it hidden like that? What happened with that suit?"

"It broke," the janitor said, simply. "Got people hurt. It was retired."

Vanna winced a bit as the back of her head suddenly ached. Mike frowned, his eyes now drawn to the thing's hands.

"How?" he asked, mentally tracing over the fingers.

He noted that a few that missed their tips, with the endoskeleton underneath either bare or broken off in some places.

"Surprised you haven't figured it out yet," the janitor said, softly, "considering you seemed pretty focused on why it has five fingers."

Mike turned to him, looking a little confused.

"Why would it-?"

"I know you're not stupid, kid," the janitor interrupted. "What _else_ has five fingers?"

Mike instinctively looked at his hand and flexed his fingers. He suddenly remembered the strange slots in the animatronic's feet, and how parts of it seemed hollow. Before, he thought that some of the endoskeleton was missing, like some of the fingertips, but now…

"...Are you _fucking kidding me_?" Mike exclaimed, gesturing towards the decrepit old thing on the table. "It's a _costume_?!"

With Mike's realization, Vanna quickly grabbed the yellow Bonnie's left hand. Upon lifting it up and bending its fingers, she noticed the precise articulation, how each individual finger could even turn and swivel, allowing a wearer a comfortable grip. Bending back the wrist revealed an empty, hollow chamber in the sleeve, wide enough to comfortably fit a person's arm. She took a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship.

"Yep," the janitor said, sobering a little as the young woman continued to test each finger. "The robot parts can be locked to the sides of each costume piece so someone can wear it."

He went quiet, his expression softening as he mulled over the memory.

"Problem was...they didn't hold very well. Should have stopped after the first incident, but..."

"...Oh, _fuck_," Mike whispered, quickly putting it together.

Vanna picked up on it half a second later, but the horrible implications of the suit's capabilities took a backseat to what the janitor just said.

"_First_ incident?"

The janitor steeled himself a little, then glanced over at his younger companions. A weariness flickered in his eyes, horror that long since lost its bite, but still left its haunting trace.

"...They wrote it off as an accident," he said quietly. "Fixed it, thought it was fine. Took one more incident to retire it completely."

He looked over the night guard and his friend, and watched the blood drain from both of their faces. Vanna's knuckles turned white as she tightened the grip on her purse. Mike tried to remain composed. The janitor gave them both a somber nod to confirm that horrifying conclusion.

"S'why I told you to be careful," he said, quietly, directly turning to Mike. "Would've told you more, but you were in a bit of a midnight rush."

Mike just gave him a numb nod as Vanna hardly dared to ask:

"...What happened?"

The old man shook his head, then glanced down at the yellow Bonnie's old, torn mask.

At the dead, silver eyes on the lifeless shell before them.

"This one had green eyes," he said, quietly. "Like her. It was _hers_."

A gesture to the room around them, the empty animatronic heads and tools, the old yellow Bonnie, the open door leading back into the dining room.

"All of this," he whispered. "She never wanted...all of this started with her."

Mike started to say something. The janitor held up a hand.

"I'm getting to it," he said. "This place...it was her dream. Opened back in '67. It was called Fredbear's Family Diner before the rebrand."

Mike briefly recalled the articles and the deed he found in Waylon's office as he turned to Vanna. She simply set her purse on the table and gave the old man her fullest attention, her face focused and calm.

"The woman who built this place," the janitor continued, "her name was Bonnie Wickes. Young widow, named the place after her missing husband. Called 'im Freddy-bear, hence...anyway, Bon always wanted kids, but couldn't have 'em herself. So she made a place where she could at least make 'em smile."

A gesture to the yellow Bonnie on the table.

"S'where all the Bonnies got their name. This one was even a girl when she was first showcased, long before the rebrand."

The janitor cleared his throat.

"But nevermind that. Bon spent a fortune on this place, and half of that was just this equipment."

"Why spend that much?" Mike asked. "Wouldn't it have been easier to just confine the damn things to the stage?"

"Wasn't her vision," the janitor replied. "Bon was set in that she wanted mascots that could walk, talk, and play. The problem was the technology. Wasn't advanced enough to do it properly. Even that Disney fella couldn't get his animatronics to move by themselves, and he's got a whole park full of 'em."

Vanna started to examine the suit again.

"So the spring suits were a bit of a way around that?" she asked.

The janitor nodded.

"That's _exactly_ why Bon made 'em double-duty," he said. "They did simple dances onstage and were synced to a soundtrack. Even had some pre-recorded lines programmed into 'em. But to make 'em more lifelike, after every show, they'd 'take a break' to put an actor inside. That way, they could talk and play with the kids until Bon figured out how to make 'em more independent. Which she did, but...well, she never got to see the results in practice."

The janitor carefully lifted one of the arms and bent the costumed hand back, then pointed to a metal piece inside.

"See this?"

Mike grabbed his flashlight and clicked it on to give himself and Vanna a better look. Upon first glance, just inside the costume's wrist, they noticed a round metal piece with a strangely-shaped hole, likely for a very specific key. Parts of a spring appeared underneath it, and further investigation showed metal bars and mechanisms attached not only to the lock, but several of the animatronic parts, many of them partway in place. Mike hoped several of the crusty, reddish-brown spots were simply rust.

"It's a spring lock," the janitor explained. "There are several inside the suit. Needed a special key to open and shut 'em."

"That _can't_ be safe," Vanna said, though she still found herself intrigued with the internal mechanisms.

She briefly wondered how difficult it would be to duplicate them.

"Safety was the first thing Bon thought of," the janitor explained. "Once you put the key in, it won't come out until either the robot parts contracted and locked as a costume, or they're put back. Made a distinct clicking sound either way, and once they're locked in, they don't move."

Mike clicked off the flashlight and turned back to him.

"But they didn't work."

"Did for a few years without a problem."

"What changed?" Vanna asked.

The janitor went quiet for another moment, and gently caressed the yellow Bonnie's head.

"...Not sure," he said, softly. "Like I said...three years, no safety issues. Had weekly maintenance done on 'em. Refitted the spring locks every six months to keep 'em from wearin' down, and did a thorough cleaning while we were at it."

He glanced up at his younger companions.

"I remember that day," he said quietly. "The first time it failed."

Vanna stood at attention, hanging onto his every word. Mike steeled himself a bit, catching the hurt in the old man's tone.

"...It was hot," the janitor said quietly. "Don't remember the exact day, but it was the end of July, maybe beginning of August. It was in '70, though; I remember that much. Anyway, Bon…"

He took a careful breath.

"...She dipped outside for a bit, wearin' this suit. Kids were in the parking lot with little these squirt guns they got from their favor bags. Bon was tryin' to call 'em in for cake, and it took a few minutes to round everyone up."

The janitor closed his eyes, his hands moving to press against the table for support.

"...They all go back inside, they have cake and ice cream while Bon and I did the birthday dance for 'em. The birthday girl was opening her presents, when Bon just..."

He opened his eyes to silver ones staring back.

"...I don't know how to describe it," the janitor whispered. "One second, things were fine. The next, it was like...like she was choking on her own spit. Lots of moist, painful sounds...I distracted the kids while some of the others got her to the back to get her out. Moved the party back outside, and just tried to keep them out of the way."

The somber look in his eyes said all it needed to. Vanna carefully reached to put a hand on his.

"...She didn't make it," she said quietly.

"No," the janitor said, giving a gentle shake of his head. "Worse, no one's ever quite figured out what happened. We had our mechanic look at the suit, and he determined it was working properly. Best guess was the moisture from sweat and the water guns loosened the springs."

Mike looked over the suit again.

"...Is that why you told me to be careful?" he asked.

The janitor nodded.

"It's _supposed_ to be locked in its animatronic mode," he said quietly, "but just in case...I didn't want another accident. Don't know what it is about this suit, but anytime it shows up...it's _supposed_ to be retired, but it always comes back. And whenever it comes back…"

Both Vanna and Mike gave a solemn nod of understanding.

"...Disaster follows," Vanna finished, her voice hardly above a whisper.

Her body ached. Cake lingered under her nose. She heard her sister's shoes clacking on tile. In the corner of her eye, she saw Mike grip his arm again.

"It's affected both of you, somehow," the janitor continued, his face softening as he glanced to Vanna. "That's why you're here tonight, and that's why I'm not going to stop you. You both need answers, and from what I know of what happens after hours, it's probably the best way to get 'em."

His face suddenly became more stern as he gave each of them a long, piercing glance.

"But you two look out for each other, you hear? Keep each other safe."

Vanna put a hand on Mike's shoulder.

"We will," she promised.

Her strong grip said enough that she intended to shoulder most of that responsibility. Mike gave a weak nod and checked his watch solely to break away from the janitor's stern gaze.

"We have five minutes to midnight," he said.

"Noted," the janitor answered. "You two get to the office; I'll lock up."

He turned to go. Vanna quickly spoke up.

"Before you do," she said, "I have one question."

The old man turned to her.

"What about?" he asked.

"...Fredbear's, 1971," Vanna said, quietly. "...My sister. She just…"

That same haunted weariness from before crossed the old man's face as the janitor picked up on it.

"...Disappeared?"

Vanna nodded, disliking the sudden awkward silence that followed.

"...We never found out what happened to her," the janitor said, quietly. "Combed every inch of this place. She was just-"

"-Gone," Vanna whispered.

Her face fell as she suddenly became interested in one of the spare Chica masks on the shelf beside her. Mike gently nudged her arm, urging her to leave with him.

"We need to get to the office," he said, keeping his voice down. "We don't have much time."

Vanna nodded in agreement and stepped out behind him. She readjusted her purse as she walked with him.

"Just tell me what you need me to do," she said.

The janitor followed behind them.

"I know you both are lookin' for answers, but you listen to Mike, understand? He'll keep you out of trouble."

Vanna gave him a quick nod. Mike simply gestured for her to follow him, then started to explain how he used the flashlight to check the halls, and that they would each take one door to watch in order to save power. As they passed Pirate Cove, the janitor dug out his keys to lock down the building, listening for their retreating footsteps.

"Old wounds," he said to himself.

The door jingle let Mike and Vanna know that they were now alone in the building. The two of them approached the prize counter, and the giant present box beside it. Vanna gently gripped Mike's arm to stop him.

"Wait," she said. "I still have one more thing to do."

Mike gave her a confused look, but when he saw the present box, he knew what needed to be done. He stopped, watching as Vanna carefully reached into her purse and pulled the ballerina card from the front pocket. She then approached the large present box and lifted the lid just enough to slide the card into place, wedging it in tightly.

Their footsteps resumed, along with Mike verifying tonight's game plan with Vanna.

Only when the two humans were safely in the office did the little card slip inside the present box.


	23. Pieces

**Saturday, November 13, 1993**

Mike quickly showed Vanna around the little office, particularly the doors. In the final minutes before the power switched over to a generator, she practiced hitting the switches and getting a feel for how fast they moved up and down. Her purse sat on the desk, the spare batteries easily in both of their reach. They each agreed to each take a door to watch, Vanna to the right, Mike to the left. They both kept their flashlights at the ready, ensuring the light switches' redundancy to allow them to save a few scraps of power.

Mike took his usual seat in the sole swivel chair. He noticed his security hat on the desk, with his badge glimmering inside. He mentally gave the janitor a thanks for ensuring he'd be in proper uniform as he quickly pulled them on.

Vanna took a final good look around the office. She examined the "CELEBRATE!" poster, the numerous monitors on the desk, and the children's drawings on the wall. A small squint to glance at the colored wax, to see if it changed.

So far, nothing but smiling children, happy animatronics, present boxes, and cake.

Just in front of the drawings, Vanna noticed the Dulcie toy sitting atop a pile of non-functioning monitors. She smiled a little as she reached to pick up the dusty old pink cupcake. It felt hard in her hands, like resin or plastic. Vanna wiped off the dust, finding a long scratch in the pink paint underneath. She then turned it over, noticing the hole in the bottom. Further investigation showed bits of wiring and metal pieces inside, but it was mostly hollow, like someone gutted it and placed it down here.

Maybe it was once a spare prop for Chica.

The ringing phone caught her attention. Vanna put Dulcie back, then gripped the edge of the desk, leaning over it to glance over at the phone. Mike already stared at it, watching the little red light as he braced himself for what he might hear. When the call finally went to the answering machine and played, it started out with white noise, before a woman's voice came through.

"You've reached the 911 Emergency Hotline," she said. "All circuits are busy right now. Please hold for the next available operator and be prepared to give the nature of your emer-"

More white noise, before the guttural nonsense from the night before filled the room. Vanna winced at the sudden burst of sound, then glanced over at Mike. He hadn't moved, just sat there gripping the armrests as he waited for the next part of the call.

An occasional whispered word came through, in a voice neither Mike nor Vanna recognized.

"...Coming...you…"

Something rang in the background of the call, the sound familiar, but indecipherable. Mike looked to Vanna, uncertain of what to make of it. She shook her head before both of them glanced back at the phone, at the little red light telling them there was more. It flickered for a second. The machine tape made a winding sound, then played the message again.

"It's...for you…"

Sharp gasps cut between the words, someone struggling to breathe. Chimes rang in the background.

Like...a music box?

The winding sound rang again, as if the answering machine attempted to clear its throat.

"It's coming...you," whispered the voice.

Another choked breath. The chimes rang out a familiar stanza:

_All around the cobbler's bench. All around the cobbler's bench. All around the cobbler's bench_...

The music box played the line continuously, the chimes gradually getting louder. A small, near-hollow _thud_ echoed over the chimes, then a choking sound, as if something grasped the caller's throat even tighter. A final gasp of breath, before a loud crashing sound ended the call.

Vanna felt Mike jump in his seat, her fingers digging a bit into his shoulders. She didn't remember when she let go of the desk to hold onto him for assurance, only that she needed to be closer to him.

Mike pulled from her grasp and turned to left door, gazing out into the dark abyss.

Those chimes…

He peered down the west hall, letting his eyes adjust to the flickering light.

"...Puppet…?"

Nothing passed by the ends of the tables, and the only movement came from some of the stars gently twirling on their strings. No sound entered his ears save for the familiar buzz of the light, the gentle hum of machinery, and the quiet creaks of the building settling in for the night.

* * *

Its pinprick eyes lit up, casting a faint glow on the paper it now held in its hands. Glitter softly caught the light, sprinkled over the blue tutu and ballet shoes of the dancer on the card. It scanned the card to commit the image to memory. It then turned it to the back, analyzing the carefully written words.

_Vesper,_

_I never forgot you. I tried to find you. I'm sorry I haven't yet._

_I miss you so much, little sister._

_I love you, and always will._

_Love, Vanna_

_P.S. I'm coming. Please hold on._

The words entered its data bank. The Puppet allowed them to process, taking in the message and storing it with the image of the ballerina. It perked afterwards, listening.

And took in the echoes of a crying child.

_Do not cry, little one_, it said, gently. _Have I not promised to make it right?_

The Puppet's eyes flickered as it took in the words only it could hear.

_You have already waited so long_, it continued. _You need wait only a little longer_.

It gently set the card down against one side of the box, showcasing it as best as possible. It then dug into the drawing pile until it found the one of itself in its box with a frown and tears arcing out from its eyes, and a little girl with black pigtails standing beside it. The Puppet carefully set it beside the card. The girl in the drawing wore a blue crayon tutu.

Two little ballerinas in blue.

Two little girls reuniting.

_Some marionettes must see their strings for themselves and follow them_. _She felt their tug, and she came to find you, just as he came to find him_.

The crying settled down as the top of the box opened. It peered out into the dining room, then towards the back corner where the backstage door remained open ajar.

Slowly, the Puppet reached out of the box, its three long fingers clawing at the tile below. Head and chest followed, before it dragged its body forward. As it slipped along the floor, it watched its speed, the lid of the box closing gently as it pulled the stumps of its legs out from underneath it.

It crawled along the floor, weaving between the tables as it pulled itself toward the backstage room. The Puppet quickly passed the main stage, where its friends remained for another moment. Afterwards, it floated into the back room.

The old suit still rested on the table, unplugged and still in standby as it left it two hours ago, when the day guard left and the old man was distracted with cleaning the alcove. The Puppet looked up in the far corner, watching for the little red light on the security camera. Satisfied upon seeing nothing, it approached Spring Bonnie and gently set its hand over his.

_You were never forgotten_, it said, quietly. _Wake, and try to remember_.

It gave the other animatronic a moment to process the command. Two bright pinpricks lit up behind the silver discs, then faded just as quickly.

Satisfied, the Puppet turned to go, quietly making its way back into the dining room. From down the west hall, its internal microphones picked up a soft sound.

"...Puppet…?"

It recognized the night guard's voice.

And only gave a soft chime in return.

* * *

For a long moment, Mike watched for robotic movement down the hall and listened for any metal scratches on the tile. He thought he heard chimes, but they were so faint, he might have imagined them. One tablecloth fluttered slightly, but stilled almost a second later, making him question if he saw anything at all. After some hesitant confirmation that none of them were coming for him, he ducked back into the office to find Vanna at the right door, still checking as well.

Her flashlight beam shone from the right window, revealing the tops of some of the posters in the east hall and the occasional glimmer of a ceiling star. Mike took his seat and turned on the one working monitor just as she clicked the flashlight off and re-entered the room. Vanna knelt beside him, watching the screens as he changed views.

"...Are they coming?" she whispered.

The camera always defaulted to the stage show, where the band still stood. He flipped the view to 1C to check Pirate Cove, and let out a small breath of relief to see nothing but closed purple curtains.

"No," Mike said quietly. "Not yet."

"Then what do we do?" she asked. "Do we wait? Just...watch the doors?"

"It's all we _can_ do for now."

He glanced up at the drawings on the wall, particularly the one of the purple Bonnie popping out of the present box.

_She fought the hardest_, Puppet told him before.

Bonnie? The woman all the rabbits were named for?

"That, and just...keep an open mind," Mike reminded her. "Only people who want to hear them will."

Vanna nodded and carefully stepped back over to the right door frame. She shone the flashlight down the hall again. The bright light at the end blocked some of her vision, but she saw the edges of some of the tables at the end of it, and the three band posters directly across from the office. Her hand hovered over the door switch, ready to smack it down if she saw one of them get too close.

Mike shut off the monitor, then turned to the open left door, his flashlight on and already shining over the checkered tiles. He listened for movement, and even more for voices.

And speaking of voices, he realized the Puppet never answered him.

"She came to help," he called, his voice just loud enough to echo down the hall. "She remembers, and she's looking."

Mike waited a moment, hoping for an answer. Only the distinct sound of padded footsteps in the dining room met his ears, telling him that at least one of them finally moved. He kept his hand near the red door switch.

Behind him, Vanna perked suddenly, shining her flashlight into the east hall corner.

Only the rules poster came into view.

"Mike?" she whispered, moving the flashlight back down to the other end of the hall.

Nothing but the light and the edges of the tables.

"Do you hear that?"

Mike held still, listening to the building's ambience. Aside from the footsteps in the dining room, he heard the light, the fan, and the weird lurching that he liked to pretend was just the building settling down.

"Hear what?"

Had Puppet answered, and he somehow missed it?

"...Crying," Vanna said, quietly.

Her mind went to that strange sound she heard in her apartment earlier. This sounded similar, but unlike the ambiguity of joy or sorrow, a child very clearly wept. The sound carried down the right hallway.

Mike held his breath and listened, trying to pick it out.

Nothing.

"No," he answered. "I don't hear anything."

Vanna kept the flashlight aimed down the hall. She gasped a bit and ducked back into the office as Bonnie walked into the beam, then reached behind her to slam down on the door switch. In her haste, she hit the light instead, illuminating the hallway.

In the flickering light, the posters just outside the office changed.

Freddy and Bonnie both turned gold, with Freddy's trademark top hat and both of their bowties now purple. Bonnie had an additional purple bow around his right ear, his red eyes now green with long lashes.

And instead of Chica, the Puppet stared back at her.

Vanna caught a glimpse of them as she quickly stepped back inside. Only the Bonnie poster remained in her view, once again purple with red eyes and a red bowtie, the extra bow and eyelashes now gone.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump. Vanna turned, relieved to see that it was only Mike.

"Vanna?" he asked, trying not to look concerned. "What happened?"

"I-I don't know!" Vanna exclaimed. "The pictures-!"

Mike took a quick glance into the hall, in time to see Bonnie's purple back and tail as he headed back into the dining room. Upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he hit the light switch to turn it off and save a bit of power.

"I believe you."

Vanna swallowed hard and nodded as Mike did a quick roll call on the cameras. Neither of them dared to breathe until he confirmed all of the animatronics were still on the other side of the building.

"Just...fuck, Mike," Vanna said, when they had relative safety once more. "I know you warned me, but-"

"-You have to see it for yourself," he whispered, making a quick check of the left hallway. "I get it. That's how it started with me."

Nothing out of the ordinary appeared for him, only the drawings on the wall and the Freddy poster in the far corner. That the hall remained silent unnerved him.

Mike ducked back into the office, and made a quick check to Cam 1C to make sure Foxy stayed put. For a moment, at least, they had nothing to worry about.

"What did you see?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Fredbear," Vanna said, simply. "Bonnie. The original one. And Puppet."

She peered out of the right door, her hand hovering over the door switch just in case. Vanna shone her flashlight down the hall, keeping her eyes toward the floor to look for animatronic feet as to not be blinded by the bright emergency light that hung so inconveniently right there. Upon confirming nothing coming into the east hallway, she turned back to Mike.

"...Why did I see Puppet?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Mike asked. "Is it out there?"

"No," Vanna clarified. "The posters. Fredbear, Spring Bonnie, Puppet. The first two, I get."

"And you're _sure_ Puppet wasn't around at Fredbear's?"

"There was a balloon station where the present box is now," Vanna explained. "Trust me, it wasn't-"

Something passed behind Mike. Vanna quickly pushed him aside, reaching out to slam the red door switch. Just as her fingers grazed it, she made out a little shadow just leaving the door frame, too small and light to be an animatronic.

A soft giggle accompanied it.

The left door came down half a second later, the switch now engaged. Vanna kept her hand pressed against it, staring at the large metal door. The sound of the metal door clicking shut rang in her ears as she processed one crucial detail:

The shadow came from the west hall corner.

And none of them left the dining room yet.

"...Mike," she whispered. "Roll call."

"What did you-?"

"Just do it!"

Mike quickly turned on the monitor and flipped through the views. Foxy peeked out of the curtains. Bonnie and Chica started their usual dining room dance. Spring Bonnie lied on the table. And Freddy stared up at them from the stage.

"None of them are close," he confirmed.

Vanna nodded, and hesitantly hit the left door switch to open it again, her flashlight held up like a club. Only upon seeing the empty hallway did she lower it.

"...I saw something," she explained. "It ran that way."

She leaned out into the hall and pointed her flashlight in the direction of the dining room. Mike peered out with her. In the flashlight's beam, Chica walked into view, causing both of them to duck back again. Vanna kept the beam shining down the hall while Mike readied himself to press the switch.

Chica stood at the west hall entrance, clicking her beak. Her purple eyes shone in the bright light, wide and almost wild. After seemingly considering it, she turned to walk out of view.

Safe again, Vanna turned off the flashlight and pulled herself back into the office. Ever vigilant, Mike ran over to the right door to verify the east hall was clear too.

Nothing so far.

He took his seat at the desk while Vanna resumed her post at the right door.

"What did you see, exactly?" he asked.

Vanna turned on her flashlight, carefully peering out into the hall again.

"I don't know," she answered. "It was small and quick. Maybe…"

The east hall's emergency light flickered for a moment.

"...Maybe it was a ghost."

Mike watched her for a moment, then turned to the monitor. He flicked the screen on and began marking each animatronic's location: Freddy onstage. Chica and Bonnie on opposite ends of the dining room. The creepy masks stared at him from the back room, and Foxy still peered from the curtains at Pirate Cove. Everyone accounted for, except…

...Except…

Mike quickly turned back to the backstage room. All the masks stared up at him...but no silver eyes. The table stood empty, the wooden slab reflecting some light from the dining room.

Spring Bonnie finally moved.


	24. Player Six

_Standby mode disengaged._

_Costume_protocol engaged._

_Disengaging costume_protocol._

_Engaging animatronic_protocol._

Several soft creaks sung in harmony as the pieces coiled out, taking place in their original positions. A series of _snaps_ and _clicks_ followed soon after as the endoskeleton reformed.

_Auto update date and time: 11/13/1993 12:09:21am_

_Uploading Fredbear_Pizza14062 map._

_Activating internal camera_.

_Retrying character information._

_Character information: unidentified._

_Retrying..._

A gray ceiling came into view, with shelves on either side. Slowly, the animatronic pushed itself up into a sitting position, the rusty joints creaking and moaning as the metal twisted into place. Its legs and feet came into view on the table.

The internal gyro calibrated to the new position, and slowly, its head turned, taking a look at its surroundings. Several masks stood on the shelves around them, their facial recognition activating upon seeing each one.

_Animatronic detected_.

_Character Designation: Bonnie the Bunny_  
_Character Designation: Freddy Fazbear_  
_Character Designation: Freddy Fazbear_  
_Character Designation: Bonnie the Bunny_  
_Character Designation: Chica the Chicken_

Its old eyelids came down in a stalled blink.

The animatronic glanced down at the table it sat on, at its metal slotted feet. The sight of them brought up a few seconds of an old video file:

**[ERROR]/31/19[ERROR] 02:11:06pm**

_It saw its feet ahead, sitting just like it was now._

_Only in this image, strange red oil surrounded it in a puddle, slowly leaking over black and white tiles._

_**ERROR:**_ _Corrupted data._

_Attempting to retrieve._

_Retrieval processing._

The file closed out, leaving it staring at the dusty table once more.

_Character information: found_.

_Character Designation: Spring Bonnie_.

Her robotic ears twitched suddenly, mimicking a rabbit listening for a predator, though all of it was for show. Like the rest of the animatronics, her actual "ears" were microphones located near the eyes to better catch the sounds through the mask. Footsteps caught her attention, as did a faint musical chime.

_Engaging entertainment protocol_.

_Running sound_location._

Spring Bonnie pushed herself from the table with remarkable ease, then paused for a moment. She turned her head to listen for more sounds, and heard voices.

Faint, indistinguishable voices, but unmistakably human.

_Engaging sound_location_.

Spring Bonnie turned to the open door in the far corner away from her, needing to find the guests. She ignored the character heads staring at her. The Bonnies and Chicas and Freddies all silently watched her, and she paid them no heed. The light from the dining room served as a beacon as she stepped out of the backstage room.

* * *

Mike quickly changed views, looking for the decrepit old Bonnie. Nothing by the stage, nothing in the dining room, at the bathrooms, or by Pirate Cove.

"Fuck, where is it?"

Vanna remained on guard at the right door.

"Which one?" she asked, running her flashlight over the tiles to check for purple paws and orange chicken feet.

"The yellow one. The old Bonnie."

Vanna turned to him for a brief second.

"Nothing's come up this way yet."

She resumed her search, adding torn, golden legs with metal feet to her list. Mike checked every view, then shut off the monitor. He scooped up his flashlight and shot the beam down the west hall, checking the corner first. When nothing came into view, he ducked back into the office.

"Bastard must be in a blind spot," he muttered, going back to his seat to do a quick check of the cameras.

"Well, it's active now," Vanna said, keeping her voice down so it wouldn't echo down the hall. "Sooner or later, one of us will find it."

* * *

_Entering Fredbear_Room_1_.

_Detecting obstacles._

_Updating map._

Her internal microphones picked up a soft whirring sound as she entered the dining room. Spring Bonnie looked up and saw a small red light blinking just over the stage. The device hosting the little blinking light moved back and forth. She froze, watching it curiously. The sound stopped as the light on the device suddenly turned off.

Almost as soon as it did, Chica wandered out of the room, quickly stepping toward the kitchen. Once she left her sight, Spring Bonnie listened for the voices again, finding that objective more important. The updated map allowed her to turn and avoid walking into the side stage at Pirate Cove as she approached the west hallway.

"...in a blind spot."

"Well, it's active now. Sooner or later, one of us will find it."

_Sound_location activated._

_Locating guests._

_Entering Fredbear_West_Hall_.

To the left, a soft, blue-gray glow shone from a window and an open door frame. To the right, several drawings hung, tacked to the wall - a catalogue of the restaurant's daytime activities.

_New items detected_.

_Updating map_.

_New voices detected_.

_Updating sound files_.

The voices originated from near the window. Spring Bonnie turned, peering inside. Neither human seemed to detect her presence. One of them sat at the desk, watching a screen of sorts. The other stood near the door on the other side.

"Where could it have gone?" the standing human asked.

"It has to be here somewhere," the other one replied. "Let me check again."

_New item detected._

_Updating map_.

The standing human kept looking out the other door. The opposite window lit up with a bright beam of light each time the human leaned out into the hallway, revealing some of the posters hanging on the other side. The human leaned back into the room, the monitor's glow lighting up their face just long enough for Spring Bonnie's software to make a scan.

_Facial recognition engaged._

_Auto update date and time: 11/13/1993 12:13:04am_

_Uploading known database._

_Searching…_

_No files found._

_Updating database._

_Checking facial parameters._

_Cataloguing…_

Her software took in every detail of this new human, from the color of the eyes and flesh, to the length of the nose and the width of the lips. A final scan determined the human to be a female, late twenties, with no previous record of ever being on the property.

Spring Bonnie then looked down at the other one. Even just the profile of the human picked up a scan.

_Facial recognition engaged._

_I'm sorry I brought you here._

_Scanning..._

_I never meant to make you sad_.

_Database search complete._

_3 files found._

_**07/15/1983 02:07:16pm**__, he brought his younger, curly-haired companion to the game alcove._

_**07/15/1983 02:22:04pm**__, he peeked out from that same alcove and met Spring Bonnie's gaze, allowing her software to get a better picture of his face.__**07/15/1983 02:28:46pm**__, his hand hung from Fredbear's mouth_.

Spring Bonnie closed the files almost as soon as they came up, not needing to play them again. Even though a decade passed since those files were recorded, and even with the lower quality of the video, several facial markers remained the same: the same blue eyes, black hair, and pale skin, the same distance between the eyes, the length of the nose, the shape of the lips.

_Doesn't this place make you happy?_

Spring Bonnie reached her right hand for the window, towards both humans. The broken tips of her fingers scratched against the glass, catching both humans' attention. The human female quickly aimed her flashlight up into the window where she stood. Spring Bonnie's microphones picked up her voice.

"Fuck, Mike, we just found it!"

_Mike_.

She knew that name.

With this second voice clip from the human female, Spring Bonnie automatically assigned the first one she took a moment ago to her profile. The other human, Mike, quickly got up from his seat. He ran over to the wall, just out of sight of the window. His partner kept her flashlight up at the window, making it difficult for Spring Bonnie to pick out much more as her right hand rested against the glass.

In the bright glow, something round gleamed at Spring Bonnie's wrist. For a brief second, her entire hand looked..._different_.

Whole.

A smooth, unbroken cover stretched over her endoskeleton, with no metal shining from between each individual joint. A dark sleeve hung over her arm, with the strange circular gleam held at her wrist by an old strap of some sort.

_Clang!_

Spring Bonnie yanked her hand from the glass as she stepped back in surprise. Her microphones picked up a small clattering sound among the residual echoes of the _clang_, like something fell. She turned to the right, where the loud _clang_ came from. The second sound was quickly forgotten as Spring Bonnie noticed the entrance to the room was now blocked with a large metal slab.

A look back in the window showed the bright beam still intact, with both humans looking at her warily. Curiously, she moved over to the door, and upon finding no way to move it, wandered back to the window, tilting her head a bit to get out of the direct glare of the flashlight.

She better caught Mike's face now. The night guard's eyes widened in horror, but simultaneously remained curious, with his lower lip just shy of being caught in his teeth. The expression triggered something in Spring Bonnie's mind, something beyond her data files and processing memory.

_I never meant to leave you_.

The words played over in her processors as Spring Bonnie reached for the glass again. Something in the other door caught the female human's attention, faint footsteps that her microphones barely picked up. The flashlight beam left the glass, leaving only the glow from the monitor casting any light.

It allowed Spring Bonnie to see something in the glass, a brief glimpse of a decrepit old rabbit.

A rabbit with blue eyes.

_Human_ eyes.

The sight startled her away from the window. Spring Bonnie quickly turned away, now heading for the dining room. Her servos shook as she walked, making her metal body twitch and sputter.

..._I'm sorry,_ she thought. _...I can't_.

* * *

The metallic clank of footsteps echoed from the west hall. From under one of the tables, it peered out into the dining room to locate the source of the sound. Spring Bonnie came into the room, her creaking joints and old servos even more audible than Foxy's.

The Puppet watched the decaying animatronic wander over to the stage, her gyro barely keeping her upright with her shaky walk. Spring Bonnie glanced up at Freddy, taking him in for a moment before she turned into the hallway where she was found. Even from here, the Puppet caught Spring Bonnie turning into the partition that led into the bathrooms. It then glanced back toward the stage, looking up at the dining room camera. It picked out the little red light that told it the security guard and his companion were watching. Once the light turned off, the Puppet slithered under the tables where it knew Mike and Vanna wouldn't see.

One after another, it raced through the tables, the white cloth fluttering and marking its location, but it gave this little thought. The Puppet moved beyond the camera's sight, now in front of the stage, before it slinked over to the right. It waited, making sure the bathroom camera remained off and still, before it moved to the partition.

A bit of noise from the boys' bathroom marked the rabbit's location. The Puppet slipped behind the partition, listened for the sound of the camera, then headed inside to follow.

* * *

Spring Bonnie stood in front of the bathroom mirror, at the decrepit animatronic looking back. Years of age and decay took their toll, with several rips and tears along the once-gold suit. The old cloth had especially torn around her eyes and mouth, and insects and degradation ate away at the outside, leaving numerous holes that showed the rusted endoskeleton underneath. Many places over the suit showed distinct discoloration. The top bisect of her right ear had long since been broken, and her wide open eyes revealed silver disks, where a human could once look through when worn as a mask.

_This isn't my face_.

She searched her memory bank and uploaded the images of her correct design: a tall, golden rabbit with large green eyes and long lashes. She wore a purple bow around her right ear, and a matching bow tie at her neck. A long time ago, she saw herself reflected back through the windows in Fredbear's Family Diner, with children around her as she sang onstage.

Back when she was still new and pristine.

Back when her color shone gold.

Back when she was still beloved by children.

Spring Bonnie reached for the mirror, her worn, thick fingers touching the glass before her. Her reflection mirrored her movements, mirrored how she stood in front of the empty stalls behind her, her robotic ears twitching with curiosity, her head carefully tilting to the side.

_This isn't my face_.

The words played on loop in her processors. Here she stood, gazing at her reflection, and yet, this didn't compute. The image before her sputtered and glitched, her aged internal camera in dire need of repair.

But still, she saw the face before her.

Spring Bonnie leaned closer, trying to make the image change. Tried to make it match the face she once saw reflected in the window. Tried to make it match the uploaded design buried in her databank.

_What has been done to me?_

But no matter her efforts, the distorted face stared back, the cloth edges of the mouth torn to reveal white plastic teeth, the rips around the eyes starting to expose the metal endoskeleton skull.

_What have I become?_

Something appeared in front of her then, an outline of sorts. Spring Bonnie only saw it for a second, but it looked..._human_.

And one she knew.

She stared at her reflection, her vision occasionally shifting and glitching to white noise as she tried to bring up the outline again. To try to place the human's face to one in her databank.

Something moved in the shadows behind her, slinking out from one of the dark stalls. Spring Bonnie paid it no heed, still more focused on trying to summon the image of the human. To place a name to that face.

_Searching…_

_Data inaccessible_.

Two pinprick lights shone in the mirror, and in the shadows, they only revealed the outlines of the eyes, two slits staring back from the dark.

_You know why I found you,_ came a voice.

Spring Bonnie turned upon hearing the words. She looked over at the tall, spindly figure. Her night vision adjusted, then picked out a tall, thin outline, with three large white buttons centered within it.

_You know why I brought you back after all these years,_

it said.

The figure leaned closer, its white face tinged with green, the ends of its wide smile touching the little red circles on its cheeks.

_Only you have the answers. Only you can help us._

Spring Bonnie lifted her one good ear curiously. She tilted her head and blinked once to acknowledge the creature's presence. The Puppet lifted a long, slender hand, to gently clasp the old rabbit's shoulder.

_You know what must be done_.

Its fingers tightened, and the pinprick lights in its eyes flashed.

_He will come back. He always does_.

Spring Bonnie stood at attention then, recording this information.

_We have a place for him_, the Puppet continued._  
_  
It grasped her other shoulder and tilted its head.  
_  
We will have our justice._

The lights in its eyes dimmed, and it leaned forward a little more. The Puppet released one clawed hand and gently ran it over Spring Bonnie's head in a careful, affectionate gesture. In that moment, its permanent smile held a tinge of sorrow, heightened by the purple streaks painted down its face.

_And so will you_.

The Puppet released its hold and floated backwards to give its companion some space. It then reached behind its back, its fingers locating the thin seam that kept the costume in place on its thin endoskeleton. Slowly, it pushed two of its thin fingers through a small gap there, then dug around until it found what wanted. The Puppet pulled out an old, thick piece of paper - bent and creased in a few places, with the edges worn down. It held it up for Spring Bonnie to see it.

A photograph.

Spring Bonnie gazed at it, adjusting to see it properly. The Puppet waited, letting the animatronic activate her software and take in the faces depicted on the photograph.

_Do you know them?_

Spring Bonnie stared, the old LEDs in the back of her endoskeleton flickering as she scanned it and committed the photograph to memory. She tried to blink when she finished, her eyelids stalling and unable to complete the motion. When they lifted properly, she slowly pulled up a hand.

Only her index finger extended, pointing to one of the subjects.

_Mike_, she said.

The Puppet nodded, then turned the picture around to look at it. It gently ran its fingers over the unnamed subject.

_You do not recall the other_, it said quietly.

Spring Bonnie slowly shook her head.

_They were both special to you_, the Puppet said, simply. _Try to remember_.

It looked back up at Spring Bonnie, holding up the picture once more for the old animatronic to take in, to properly capture.

_It happened this night_, it said, _six years ago. ...Perhaps you should start there_.

Spring Bonnie nodded, then looked back to the mirror, staring blankly at the smooth glass. The Puppet lingered nearby as the older animatronic's processors whirred and started a search in her database for files dated November 13, 1987.


	25. A Step Into the Past

_Searching: 11/13/1987 12:00:00am - 12:59:59am_

_No files found._

_Searching: 11/13/1987 01:00:00am - 01:59:59am_

_No files found._

_Searching: 11/13/1987 02:00:00am - 02:59:59am_

_No files found._

_Searching: 11/13/1987 03:00:00am - 03:59:59am  
_

_1_ _file found_.

_Activation log: 11/13/1987 03:49:02am  
_  
_Retrieving data._

_**11/13/1987 03:49:57am**_

_A white face stared at her as she finished activating, the dark eyes and bright red cheek circles fading into view. Two dark purple streaks ran down its face, in juxtaposition with its wide smile_.  
_  
The Puppet moved its hand over her face. The camera cut out, but she registered the distinct processing commands._

Animatronic_protocol engaged.

Sensors detect foreign object.

Disengaging animatronic_protocol.

Engaging costume_protocol.

_She picked up a cracking, squelching sound on her microphones as her animatronic parts slid back into place. The sensors still detected something internally, and she waited for the human inside to move._

_But they never did_.

* * *

Mike stared at the dark window, where Spring Bonnie stood only a moment before. God, that thing looked creepier up close, even more when it moved. What bothered him most was the eyes: dark, empty sockets with silver discs that he assumed once held the plastic green ones. It reminded him of a skull, the eyeless sockets broken only with ghostly pupils.

Behind him, Vanna still checked the east hall, having heard footsteps. At the end of the hall, she watched the purple Bonnie stop, stare at her for a moment, then start another round of circling the tables and adjusting the party hats. Satisfied for a moment, she turned off the flashlight and turned back to Mike.

"All clear on my end," she said, quietly.

Mike nodded, then clicked on his own flashlight. He aimed it up at the left window, which now showed only dangling stars, a few sketches, and a gray speckled wall. He came up to the window and checked both sides of the hallway as best he could from there.

Nothing came into view.

"Mine too, so far."

Carefully, Mike moved to the left door, flashlight ready, his hand at the switch in case he needed to close it quickly again. He pressed the red button as he aimed his flashlight out into the hall. The door came up to show nothing standing there. He leaned out just beyond the door frame, his flashlight catching Spring Bonnie's retreating back and what remained of its round tail. The old rabbit sputtered a little as it walked, its old joints audibly creaking from the other end of the hall.

As Mike ducked back into the room, something glimmered in the corner of his eye. He quickly checked the hall corner behind him to make sure nothing else lurked, then aimed his flashlight down to where he swore he saw the glimmer.

Something round and with a silver edge caught his attention. It sat on the floor, just under the window, and far enough out of sight that he couldn't quite pick out what it was...but something about it looked familiar. Mike lifted his gaze to quickly glance down the hall. Spring Bonnie had since disappeared into the dining room.

Mike turned to Vanna.

"I think he dropped something," he said, quietly. "Cover me?"

Vanna checked the monitors real quick. She found the bathroom camera first and noticed one of them walking into the boys' restroom, though she couldn't tell which from the shadows. Ignoring it in favor of time, she counted two in the dining room, and two on their respective stages. That made a total of five accounted for. A brief glance of the time showed it at 12:17am, with the power level down to 86%.

"I think you're good," she said.

"All right," Mike replied, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Stay by the door and be ready to hit that button in case something tries to follow."

"Got it," Vanna whispered back.

She positioned herself by the left door, her fingers over the button. Mike listened for other sounds as a final precaution, and upon hearing nothing, decided to chance it.

He slipped out of the office and into the hallway. He stepped carefully, diminishing the sound of his shoes as much as he could. The object glimmered again in the flashlight beam. He crouched down, stretching his fingers to grab it. It felt smooth and cool under his fingertips.

_Scritch-scratch_.

"Shit," he whispered.

Mike quickly grabbed the object, then made a beeline for the office. He lifted the flashlight up behind him, in time to see Foxy's bright yellow eyes and sharp, white and gold teeth.

"Vanna! The door!"

She didn't answer him. Mike straight-up dove into the office, practically somersaulting into the room. He reached behind him to hit the switch, just as the metal footsteps came closer.

Mike sat where he landed, his flashlight dropped to the floor beside him. The door clicked shut, keeping him safe from the pirate fox. He tightly clutched his prize to his chest, and simply tried to breathe normally again. Only when he caught his breath did he realize that Foxy didn't run this time, merely followed him at a pace better befitting the others.

Three soft, gentle knocks echoed from the other side, startling the night guard.

_No need te' run anymore, lad_, came his gruff, accented voice. _Ol' Foxy knows ye aren't the lubber we be seekin'.  
_  
Mike shuddered, just waiting for him to go away.

_Someday, lad_, Foxy continued, softly, _ye've gotta stop runnin'. Ye've gotta stop runnin' and face the truth_.

The night guard remained where he was, his hands tightening around the object he claimed.

"What...what truth?" he whispered.

Instead of an answer, he heard the metal footsteps stomp in the hallway. Mike waited for them to fade, then let out a small breath of relief. He looked up, suddenly realizing how quiet the office was aside from the fan and the familiar buzz of the light. Vanna also never answered him...or was even in the room anymore. Light shone from the monitor, revealing the right door in front of him, its metal door closed.

_How_ was it closed?

"Fuck!"

He scrambled to his feet, diving for the door switch to open it again. His palm smacked into the red button and engaged it.

The button made a strange clicking sound, one he never heard before. The door remained shut. Mike tried it again, hitting it rapidly to try to open the door.

_Click-click. Click-click. Click-click. Click-click_.

But no matter how many times he hit the switch, the door refused to budge.

* * *

While Mike investigated the west hall, Vanna kept an eye on the office, listening for him to either come back or signal for her to shut the door. The monitor was still on. Remembering what Mike said about the power, she took a quick step over to it, intending to shut it off and get back into position.

As Vanna's fingers touched the knob, the sound of footsteps caught her attention.

Footsteps too small and light to be an animatronic's.

Without a second thought, she grabbed her flashlight and ran over to the right doorway, leaning out of it to check the hall for the source of the sound.

Nothing.

Briefly, she thought of the shadowy thing that she saw only a moment ago.

_Come find me_.

The words shot straight into her mind, catching her off guard. Vanna turned her flashlight to the east hall's back corner, seeing only the rules poster and a few silver stars. She glanced behind her, where Mike still hadn't come back. Knowing he was counting on her, she quickly stepped back into the office to get back into position.

A child's crying forced her to stop and turn back around to the east hall, where she noticed the posters changed again.

Black paper with white crayon. Crying faces and scribbled words overlapped each other. Vanna stared at them for a moment, trying to decipher any comprehensible message. She soon realized that words like "trapped" and "help" and "dark" created the tapestry of madness. Very faintly, she smelled vanilla cake and strawberry icing.

_Come find me_.

Almost on command, Vanna stepped forward. The end of the hall remained clear, with no red or brown or purple or yellow in sight. She shone her flashlight down the hall to counter the emergency light, giving herself a clearer view of the dining room at the other end.

The familiar click of a switch caught her attention. Vanna quickly turned around, in time to see the large metal door come down.

"No!"

She ran over to it, banging her fist on the metal slab before her.

"Open up! Mike!"

No answer.

"Mike, this isn't funny!" Vanna cried, banging on it again. "Open the damn door!"

A soft sound echoed down the hall. A little girl's giggle, a click of shoes, the fading smell of cake. Vanna turned around, to see the hallway around her changed.

The gray speckled walls remained, but the posters now held framed artwork of Fredbear and Spring Bonnie, Fredbear posed with his microphone as if singing, and Spring Bonnie rocking on the guitar. The purple bow around the right ear indicated a time long before Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Children's drawings were scattered over the walls, their subjects more limited.

Vanna turned back to the door, only to see an unbroken wall where it once stood. The window disappeared as well, a poster of the Fredbear and Spring Bonnie animatronics onstage together replacing it. She ran her flashlight over the picture, then reached to touch it.

Smooth glass registered under her fingertips, new and unscratched, unlike the old window. Vanna tried to move the picture. To her surprise, it moved to the side, as if it had always been there.

Only a blank wall showed underneath it. Vanna let go of the picture, Fredbear and Spring Bonnie swaying once, twice, before the picture settled back into place.

..._The office wasn't here back then_, she realized.

Only a long hallway, and a storage closet on the other side.

She never looked there, did she?

The giggling echoed down the hall again. Vanna turned, barely catching the form that ducked the corner and into the hall.

Parts of a pale blue skirt.

The ends of long black hair.

"...No…"

Vanna froze in place, her flashlight still stuck on the corner where the specter vanished.

She didn't just see...that wasn't…

Movement caught her attention in the corner of her eye. Vanna turned to the right, where the artwork of Fredbear and Spring Bonnie remained. On the wall under them, black crayon scribbles formed an uncanny message:

"ComE FiND mE!"

The giggling echoed down the hall again. The sweet scents hung briefly, like traces of perfume.

And a familiar voice, a shadow from so long ago, spoke immediately after.

"I'm gonna hide!"

It came from the dining room. Vanna forced her legs to move, to start walking down the east hall. She glanced behind her quickly, making sure nothing lurked in that corner. Aside from the pictures, nothing came into view.

"But _I_ wanna hide!" came an identical voice.

"You won tag," said the first. "_I_ get to hide!"

Vanna picked up her pace, just short of a full-on run. The sugary smell grew stronger with each step.

"...Okay," the second voice conceded. "I'll count to twenty."

Both voices cut off as she entered the dining room. Everything looked just as it did when she and Mike first entered: long party tables holding pointed hats in a straight line, silver stars hanging from the ceiling, the prize counter immediately to her left. No more cake assaulted her nose, just the remains of cleaner, vinyl from the chairs, and the lingering undertone of pizza grease that no amount of scrubbing could ever get rid of. She saw only one distinct difference from before: the main stage curtains were open, with only Freddy in his usual spot. She saw neither Bonnie nor Chica weaving between the tables.

Vanna felt her blood pound and quickly ducked behind the glass prize counter. If anything, the space behind it seemed too thin for an animatronic to follow her.

Relatively safe, she peeked up over the counter, running her flashlight over the room to try to locate the giant chicken or the purple rabbit.

Neither one came into view. The flashlight beam found the curtains at Pirate Cove, in time to catch a red tail slipping through the small gap in the front.

_Fuck_, Vanna thought. _That was close_.

A voice echoed in her mind.

_Come find me_.

Vanna gasped and quickly looked around for the source. She heard it, didn't she? It wasn't just her imagination?

"...Vesper?" she whispered.

Silence.

Vanna carefully stood up, running her flashlight over the room again.

She couldn't stay here, she knew. They couldn't walk back here, but they could still reach over the counter and grab her. Mike's bruise was a testament enough to their strength. Ducking under the tables was an option, as was trying the bathrooms.

Not many options for escape routes, but what choice did she have?

_Vanna, please! Please find me!_

The words caught her off-guard, but Vanna _knew_ she heard them that time.

"...I'm coming," she whispered. "Where are you?"

_It's dark. I can't...I-I can't breathe_.

Vanna flashed the beam at Pirate Cove to buy herself some assurance, and listened for the other two that were walking around. She turned off the flashlight, then ducked down behind the prize counter again. She peered around it, grateful for the emergency light that shone above and marked the positions of everything in the room. Vanna mentally calculated the distance to the nearest table. With a deep breath, she went for it, quickly crawling across the room and under the white cloth.

* * *

Spring Bonnie stared into the mirror, still trying to make sense of the data file she just pulled up. She turned to glance to the Puppet.

_You were there_, she said.

The Puppet gave a single nod of confirmation.

_I was,_ it said, quietly. _I am sorry_.

Spring Bonnie reached for the glass, tracing the hollow eyes, the torn smile under her fingers.

_This isn't my face_, she said, then turned back to the Puppet. _...Why isn't this my face?_

The Puppet remained silent. It simply lingered beside Spring Bonnie on its invisible strings. The rabbit's processors whirred and hummed as they continued their various retrievals, attempted data fixes, and searches.

_Data retrieved._

_**11/13/1987 07:11:06am**__The strange red oil formed around her._

_I was already dead._

_**11/13/1987 07:14:54am**_

_The bearded man used a cloth to lift her chin up to look under the mask._

Something happened before and between those files, corrupted data that her processors spent all day trying to retrieve.

_Searching: 11/13/1987 07:00:00am - 07:59:59am_

_1 file found._

_I don't want to open it._

_I don't want to see._

_Continuing search._

_Searching: 11/13/1987…_

Spring Bonnie perked a bit, turning her head. Her old ears twitched to listen. For a moment, she _swore_ she heard metallic banging coming from within the walls, a woman's voice, musical chimes...

But her microphones picked up no sound, nor did they create any new sound files to catalogue and store and compare.

Spring Bonnie turned back to the mirror as she started another search. After 11/13/1987 07:19:47am, she found nothing but sleep mode and standby records, until...

_2 files found_.

_What happened to me?_

_11/13/1987 11:46:09pm  
11/14/1987 12:34:38am_

_Activating video files.  
_

* * *

_**11/13/1987**_ _**11:46:09pm**_

_The sound of new voices temporarily awoke her from sleep mode.  
_  
"_Is this the one he was talking about?"_

"_Yep."_"_What did the boss say to do with it?"_

"_We're gonna hide it, where no one can find it."_

_"What about the body?"_"_Already gone."_

_Spring Bonnie heard them approach, one set of footsteps moving behind her, the other stopping just at her feet. She simply listened, as the costume protocol prevented her from moving._

"_Wouldn't it have been easier to just leave it inside?" the one in front asked._

"_Hey, I don't ask questions, I just get the job done," the one behind her replied. "'Specially when the pay's this good."_

"_Still doesn't make any sense."_

"_Yeah, well, my guess is if this thing's ever found, the company can deny they knew anything about the body inside. Now gimme a hand and help me lift it."_

_The one behind her gripped her under her arms, while the one in front grabbed her ankles. They picked her up together, her head thrown back a bit to look up at the ceiling tiles and bright lights. She took in the white and gray speckles as the two men carried her out of the room._

"_Where are we taking it, anyway?" the first voice asked._

"_To the old place. Gonna section off a small room, hide it there."_

_"You really think that's gonna work?"_

_"That's just what I was told. Now come on; we don't have all night."_

_The men walked in silence for several minutes. Nothing came into her camera vision save for the speckled ceiling that matched the walls, the bright lights, an occasional garland of silver stars. Sometimes, a colorful poster or drawing caught Spring Bonnie's view on the speckled walls, never with enough information to determine the subject matter. The men stopped only once in one room, where she saw part of a little merry-go-round in the peripheral view of the camera. They each took a breath, then lifted her up once more._

_Back to gazing at the ceiling, until they reached the front door. Then, she saw a strange purple barrier and a blackness beyond the bright ceiling lights. She heard footsteps banging against something flat and metal, before the men angled her up, giving Spring Bonnie her only look at the building in front of her._

_White, with blue-green doors nestled in a purple frame. The same colors wrapped around the top of the building in a checkerboard ribbon, and the bright sign above showed the faces of Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica, all of them with bright circles on their cheeks and unfamiliar designs._

_Then, they carried her flat again, to see a new ceiling, this one a dull gray with several rivets. They set her down. Their footsteps left. A metal door came down._

Activating night mode.

**ERROR:** Could not engage night mode.

Activating audio-only._  
_  
End video file.

* * *

_**11/14/1987 12:34:38am**_

Motion detected.

Activating camera.

Auto update date and time: 11/14/1987 12:34:42am

_The riveted ceiling appeared again, with a loud metal sliding sound followed by footsteps echoing inside the metal box as the men readied themselves to lift her up again. They walked in silence until they entered the new building._

"_Where are we taking it again?"_

_"Just down the hall there by the bathrooms. We're sealing it in tonight; the plaster will be set by the time they move everything else over."_

"_Got it."_

_The audio feed grew quieter and clean, with only the sounds of footsteps in an empty room. Like before, she saw only the ceiling, and like before, they set her down once to rest, then picked her up again._

"_Where do you want to drop it?"_

_"Right there's fine. Alright, one, two...heave!"_

_The camera blurred and shook as metallic crashes entered the audio feed. Something above her head snapped, the piece skittering on the floor beside her. The feed adjusted itself after a moment, in time to see two tall figures walking away._

_Leaving._

_The camera view turned to follow them, better capturing the retreating men...an action that should not have been possible when locked in the costume protocol._

_A new sound entered her microphones, one weak and unfamiliar._

"_...mm...st...ere…"_

_The men stopped. One of them turned to look at the other._

"_Did it...speak?"_

"_...Probably just the rest of its junk parts settling in," replied the other, giving his partner a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. With all that blood on it, it probably doesn't work anymore."_

_The footsteps picked up again, and the men turned out of the room._

_And not long after that, the video feed cut off as the battery finally gave out._


	26. Hide and Seek

_Click-click. Click-click. Click-click. Click-click_.

Mike hopelessly tried the switch again, hating the sound more and more with each press of the red button.

"Damn it! Open!"

He kicked against the door, creating a loud metallic echo in the room. Despite his efforts, it refused to budge. Defeated, Mike slammed his fist into the door, the object he gripped digging into his skin. For the first time, he noticed a long, black leather strap dangling from his fist, the warmth of the metal object in his hand. Mike turned away from the door and rested his back against the cold metal slab. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers, the torn black strap already cluing him in to what he held:

An old silver watch, with the strap torn at both ends.

Reddish-brown smears and splatters covered the face, some of it stuck at the edge of the protective glass. A few places on the glass covering remained clear enough for Mike to pick out silver dashes set into its black face instead of numbers. A long time ago, the silver hands froze at 11:13.

Thoughts of the black circle drawings came to mind, along with remnants of the dream he had on Vanna's couch.

How he was running out of time.

Mike slowly turned the watch around, his hands trembling as he examined the stains obscuring the back. He ran his thumb over the back, hesitating to scrape at the old reddish residue. But if this was what he thought it was, then he had no choice.

Taking a breath, he readied himself, and ran his thumbnail over the stains.

One by one, two initials appeared:

_M. F_.

They would not match the initials of their last owner, he knew, but the watch's existence, being here in this state…

Mike looked up at the other side of the room, where the other door remained shut from keeping Foxy out, but his eyes found the window where Spring Bonnie stood before.

"...Why did you have this?" he whispered.

But the old watch and its current condition told him all he needed to know. The torn straps, the red stains...Mike briefly recalled what the janitor told him about the spring suits as he turned the watch in his hands, solely to give them something to do.

Six years ago, he disappeared. Six years ago, the case went cold due to lack of evidence of his fate. And every November afterwards, Mike shut down, unable to face the pain of not knowing what happened.

That horrible night...that horrible _day_ in 1987…

Mike reached up to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, realizing something.

"But he wasn't...he wasn't _here_."

He stood up, running to the window, his flashlight ignored on the floor. Mike reached up to touch it, his hand pressed against the glass where Spring Bonnie held hers before.

"...He wasn't here."

The light from the monitor flickered beside him, getting his attention. Suddenly pulled back into his job, he quickly checked the time and power level first.

12:28am, and 79%.

Mike set the watch on the desk and did a quick check of the premises. Freddy still remained on the main stage. Bonnie lingered in the back room, with Chica circling the dining room tables. The curtains at Pirate Cove stayed shut, which left only one animatronic unaccounted for.

And Vanna.

Mike did a second round of investigation, trying to find her.

Where had she gone? And why had the right door been closed?

Upon finding no clue to her whereabouts, Mike glanced over to the right door and tried again. Once more, the button uselessly clicked at him, the door stubbornly staying in place. And in that moment, Mike realized the futility of trying to save power tonight. In the time he spent checking alone, the power levels dropped down to 75%.

His flashlight still sat on the floor, shining at the cobwebs under the desk. Mike reached down to pick it up, then turned to the left door.

_They won't hurt me_.

He glanced to the old watch on the desk. Without a second thought, he grabbed it and shoved it into his pocket, the bloody object an odd comfort as it warmed against his body again. He then picked up Vanna's purse to fish the spare batteries from it, shoving them into his other pocket.

Mike opened the left door, as prepared as he could be. He aimed his flashlight out into the hall, checking the corner first out of habit, then down into the dining room.

Chica was passing by. She stopped in the light, in perfect profile, then slowly turned her head to look at him. Her dark lids hung partway over her eyes, tilted to give the appearance of sadness.

_Sometimes found, and sometimes lost_, she sang. _The greatest ones are worth the cost_.

This time, her song lacked cheer. Mike simply nodded to her.

"...I understand now," he whispered, "what you were trying to tell me before."

Chica still stared at him, though she took a step back to clear the hallway.

To create a path.

Mike took the hint and slowly stepped forward.

* * *

For a long while, Vanna stayed still, listening for distinctly heavy footsteps. She held her breath, only to be met with silence. She slowly let it out, before she carefully picked her way under the table, half-crawling, half-crouching in order to reach the other end without moving the chairs.

Vanna started to speak, but stopped. What if the animatronics heard her?

Maybe…

_Vesper_, she thought, hoping her sister could hear her, _you need to tell me where you went_. _I don't know where you are_.

Silence.

Vanna pressed herself down onto her stomach, peering under the tablecloth to watch for animatronic feet.

_I'm not alone_, Vesper answered, finally. _I can't move._ _I need my m-medicine. I want to go home!_

A pair of orange, two-toed feet suddenly stomped by. Vanna backed away a little, holding her breath.

_I'm coming_, she promised. _Just hold on_.

Vanna waited for Chica to pass, then carefully peered under the tablecloth again.

The room looked brighter again, newer. She held up her flashlight, but realized she didn't need it. Vanna carefully surveyed the immediate area, then crawled out from under the table. She glanced behind her, intending to listen for the footsteps, but realized the table looked...round.

A smaller family table to seat six.

Tables that hadn't been in use for almost two decades.

She took in a quick breath. Vanna choked on a gasp as she surveyed the room: purple and gold, with decorations long considered relics, but were bright and new. She carefully stood up, then looked over at the stage. The purple curtains were closed again, with gold glitter instead of silver stars. Faintly, she heard talking and laughing and-

_Come find me_.

Ghostly footsteps ran by the stage.

"Vesper!"

Vanna started to follow, but stopped.

Was this merely a dream? A hallucination?

Or had she somehow stepped back in time?

She looked across the room where Pirate Cove no longer existed, just a line of video game cabinets and a large rainbow mural.

Vanna's eyes were immediately drawn to the dark gap at the end of the rainbow.

_I never looked back there_, she realized.

The employees-only room. Even back then, it had been off-limits to the public, and she avoided it for that reason.

But with everywhere else accounted for...

Vanna hesitantly stepped towards the door, readying herself for what she might find. Perhaps the back room would revert back to the present like the dining room did. Or maybe it would show her the truth.

The door carried a faint warmth under her touch as she carefully pushed it open. The light from the dining room carved out a long rectangle that illuminated the objects in front of her: familiar shelves and a sturdy wooden table.

Something rested atop it: a partially-dressed animatronic, its chest and part of its arms covered in gold plush, but a slightly lighter color than Fredbear and Spring Bonnie. A small, pink object sat on the corner closest to the door.

A cupcake with eyes.

Dulcie.

Vanna stepped closer, reaching for it. She grabbed it and picked it up, turning it in her hands.

It had been gutted, just like the one in the office. And just like the one in the office, it had distinct scratches on the inside. Vanna flipped it right side up, trying to determine if it was the same one. She found a long scratch in the paint, and remains of dust.

Dulcie's eyes suddenly peered over to the left. Vanna barely kept her grip on the resin treat, but took its subtle hint and followed its gaze to the furthest corner in the room.

Her eyes widened at the sight before her. Every muscle in her body tightened, and her breath stopped short at what lay before her.

There, poking out of the shadows, stood the Puppet's box.

* * *

_You know how you got here,_ the Puppet said, still hovering near Spring Bonnie. _Yet you still do not know who you are_.

Spring Bonnie ignored the creature for a moment, her attention completely focused on the mirror. How many times in the last few moments had she traced those tears in her face? Counted the teeth? Adjusted her ears? Fiddled with the wires poking from under the plush?

The more she looked at it, the more foreign it became, beyond the rips and rust.

_This isn't my face_.

Earlier, when she saw Mike, she saw...something else.

Blue eyes instead of green. A different covering over her hand. A glimmering circle that hung at her wrist.

_This isn't my face_.

The words rang in her mind when she next saw the vision: a quick glimpse of a human form right before Puppet found her here.

She stared at the mirror, at the empty silver eyes staring back, at the torn, rotting cloth and twisted smile. Spring Bonnie reached for the mirror, once more attempting to make it change, to make the eyes green, the cloth whole, the smile friendly.

And then it did.

The reflection changed for a moment, the silver eyes now wide open...and _blue_.

Blue eyes that looked back with fear. Blue eyes that shed horrified tears down a face with a mouth twisted in agony, a face that tried to speak, to _scream_.

Spring Bonnie stepped back from the mirror. Before, the image of the human flashed so quickly, her facial scanners failed to process it long enough to match it. But this time, she caught it, the image burned into her processors. She even now had something to compare it to, thanks to the Puppet.

Her hands shook as they rested against the glass, the silver eyes reflecting back.

The Puppet watched her quietly for a moment, then floated closer to her, gently setting a hand on the old animatronic's shoulder.

_I know_, it said, gently, _and I am sorry_.

It gave Spring Bonnie a moment to process what she just saw, before it slipped a hand under her chin to urge her to look up at it.

There was life there now, white pinpricks behind the silver discs.

Like the rest of them when they properly awakened.

_Perhaps now, _the Puppet suggested, _you should play that other file_.

Spring Bonnie attempted another blink, nodding when the old lids expectantly stalled.

And slowly, she located the file she skipped over before.

* * *

_**11/13/1987 07:10:34am**_"_Look! Right there, in the back!"_

Disengaging standby mode.

Activating watch_learn.

_By the distinctly higher pitch, she determined the voice to be female, albeit a bit gruff. She picked up two sets of footsteps coming toward her on her microphones. Her internal camera looked down at her own feet, at the black and white tile, and the strange red oil drying around her. She saw two sets of boots step into her camera view, meticulously avoiding the red puddle._

"_...Jesus."_

_This second voice held a deeper pitch, a slight drawl._

_Male._

"_Who's inside?" asked the woman._

"_Only one way to find out."_

_She watched as the man bent down, catching part of a salt-and-pepper beard. The man held a cloth in one hand, and while clutching it, dug his fingers under her chin. The cameras slid up to face the ceiling, blurring the rest of the man's face._

_His companion made a strange, lurching noise._

"_Oh, god. Isn't that-?"_

"_The new hire? Yep, looks like it. Now we know why he didn't show up this morning."_

"_Look at...oh god, the eyes."_

_She made that lurching sound again. By the sound of it, the woman barely kept it in._

"_...Kid was terrified," the man whispered, trying to keep his own voice steady. "Can't blame 'im."_

_The words were hardly distinguishable over the woman's choking coughs. A few pats echoed under it as her partner tried to help ease her. When she finally got control, the bearded man spoke again._

"_...Somethin' ain't right."_

_"There's a d-dead man right there, William!" the woman said, urgently. She violently coughed again. "Of _course _something isn't-isn't right!"_

"_Not what I meant," William replied, once more forcing himself to speak calmly. "How old was the kid? Twenty? Twenty-one?"_

"_I think?"_

"_The spring suits were retired as costumes way back in '70. He would've been a youngin' back then."_

_The woman forced back another cough, then tried to follow William's train of thought._

"_What are you saying?"_"_I'm sayin' he wouldn't have known it can be worn like this."_

_A small pause, then a cleansing breath as William cleared his mind._

"_I know what it looks like, Marcie," he continued, "and what we're seein', it ain't what it seems. It's been circlin' 'round the staff that a yellow suit was used in the incident, right?"_

"_Yes, but…"_

_Marcie paused for a moment, computing this new information._

"_...You're saying he was framed."_

"_Not just framed. _Murdered_. Someone else set 'im up. Someone who knows how to work these suits."_

_William pulled the animatronic mask back into its proper place. The ceiling tiles disappeared from the camera view, and after another quick blur, the camera looked down at the floor again, at her feet, the red oil._

"_But ain't no way to prove it," William continued. "The tapes were erased, and anyone who worked with the spring suits before doesn't work here now."_

"You _know about them," Marcie pointed out._

_"Only 'cause I worked at Fredbear's back 'fore it was bought out. There was an incident there, too. Same suit, even. It's why they were supposed to be locked in their animatronic modes."_

_"What happened at Fredbear's?"_

_"Nevermind that," William said, taking on an authoritative tone. "What are we gonna do about the kid here? We call the police, they'll consider it a cut and dry case. Yellow suit malfunctioned, only one there after hours, no alibi. Poor kid goes down in history as a murderer for a crime he didn't commit. Meanwhile, the _real _one's still out there."_

"_Then why don't you tell them what you told me?" Marcie asked._

_"Speculation. We'd have to prove for certain he didn't know. No prior history here, sure, but we can't prove he wasn't messin' around after hours and figured it out."_

"_So what do we do?"_

_A moment of silence._

"_...Get the mop and the bleach," William said at last. "We'll clean up what we can, then cover it until the place closes."_"_But-"_

_Marcie started to protest. William cut her off._

"_We _have to_, Marce. It's the only way we'll find out what happened. And the only way the police will keep looking for the bastard who did all this."_

_He let out a long sigh._

"_...I feel bad for the family. I really do. But it's better he disappears. Some folks might still blame 'im, but others'll think he disappeared with those kids. It'll give his folks some peace of mind when they come lookin'."_

_Marcie forced back another cough._

"_I don't...I don't like this," she said, sounding hesitant. "But when you put it like that...I'll get the mop."_

_"Good. I'll stay here and make sure no one else comes in."_

_Her microphones picked up one set of boots turning around to leave. When they stopped echoing against the tile, William knelt down. The internal cameras caught the beard more clearly now, attached to a worn face, brown eyes that looked on with concern.  
_

Facial recognition engaged.

Auto update date and time: 11/13/1987 07:14:14am

"_I'm sorry, kid," he said. "...Jeremy, wasn't it?"_

_No. Not Jeremy.  
_

Spring Bonnie_._

_But all she could do now was listen with her built-in microphones and observe on her internal cameras, at least until her battery ran down._

"_I'm gonna try to figure out who did this, kid," the man said, "but it's gonna take time."_

_He forced up a smile._

"_Try to rest in peace in the meantime."_

* * *

_Jeremy_.

That was his name, wasn't it?

Spring Bonnie stared at the mirror, computing this new information. The human face she saw before, the terrified blue eyes...they were _his_. The decrepit old rabbit seemed to fade back into the glass as more details slowly filled in: short, straight, dark brown hair, parted at the left. A long, but handsome face, with lips that trembled in fear and uncertainty. The purple shoulders and collar of a security guard's uniform.

And the glimmer of a gold badge at his chest.

Spring Bonnie stared in horror as remembered chimes echoed somewhere beyond the processors, a voice on the phone, metallic bangs from inside the walls around him.

Flashes of a dark room crossed his vision, one filled with animatronic parts and a strange man's smile. Even now, he was trapped in this decrepit old body, terrified and unable to breathe.

Just like he had been before.

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. And no way out.

No way out…

Spring Bonnie lifted the golden hands up in the camera view. They trembled as his eyelids widened.

_Trapped_, he thought. _I c-can't...oh, god…_

He looked up at the mirror, at the decrepit old rabbit staring back.

_This….th-this isn't my_…

In a panicked second, the golden hands reached out, trying to push the yellow rabbit away. The mirror glass cracked against the strong metal hands, cutting and tearing at the old cloth fingers. Spring Bonnie reached up and grabbed for the mask.

_Can't...c-c-can't breathe_…

In a vain attempt to pull it off, the hands smashed into the mirror again, leaving craters in the once-smooth surface.

_Th-this isn't my...this i-i-i-i-sn't...my...have to get it off, h-h-have to-!_

Over and over again, the head and hands slammed against the mirror as panic surged through him with every failed attempt to pull the mask away. Shards flew and exposed broken plaster underneath. The cracks in the glass finally gave in, and several large mirror pieces collapsed out of place, smashing into the floor. They left nothing but a blank wall where they once sat, with only a few pieces barely clinging to the frame.

Spring Bonnie stumbled back, reaching behind him to grasp something for support. The gyro failed as the animatronic fell back, landing with a loud _CRASH_ into the edge of one of the stalls. He slipped down against it, his large metal feet scraping against the tile until his rump hit the ground.

For a long while, he sat there, staring ahead at the sinks and the glass piles on the floor and the counters. Finally, he pulled his knees up to his chest, with several soft _whirs_ and metal _clinks_ gently echoing as the robotic body trembled. He then moved his hands up over his face, blocking the internal camera feed from taking in anymore.

But even that was no comfort when the nightmare of his last night on earth came back to haunt him.


	27. The Last Night

_**Friday, November 13, 1987**_

_Jeremy Fitzgerald pulled up at the new Freddy Fazbear's Pizza in his blue '83 Suzuki FX, knowing he barely got here early enough. He grabbed his flashlight, then patted his pocket to ensure he had extra batteries after how close things got two nights ago. His date with Thomas a few hours earlier lasted longer than he planned, and by the time he got home to get ready for work, he barely had enough time to get ready and get out the door. Any spare time to check for intruders was gone. Right now, he knew to just get in and get to the office. Anyone dumb enough to be in here after midnight...well, Jeremy didn't want to say he was heartless enough to consider them on their own, but he couldn't exactly rescue them after midnight rolled around, either._

_He quickly unlocked the front doors and got inside, keeping an eye on his old black wristwatch._

_11:57pm._

_Jeremy flicked his flashlight to the right, over on the stage show where the Toy versions of Bonnie, Freddy, and Chica stood tall, their plastic casings shining bright and new in the light._

Just stay back_, he thought, remembering the advice he got on the phone a few days ago._

_Even though it wasn't midnight yet, he wanted to ensure their frozen stance for one more minute. Satisfied, Jeremy picked up the pace, dashing past the video game cabinets and the mini-carousel, flicking his flashlight on Balloon Boy as he passed him._

_Go down the hallway to the bathrooms, and from there, ignore the Parts and Services door at the end of it. Just turn left, pass the party rooms, and get to the security office._

_Jeremy held up his flashlight as he exited that long hallway, knowing he had only two minutes to prepare himself. He turned to look at the stack of old monitors sitting in the far left corner of the room. He wished he thought of this earlier in the week, but better late than never._

_With that thought in mind, he quickly grabbed one of the heavy monitors, then carried it over to the vent next to the stack to block it. A quick shove to make sure it became an obstacle, a quick breath, and then he returned to the stack to hoist up another one. Walking quickly, but carefully to the right vent, Jeremy set it down and like before, shoved it in place._

_He doubted the monitors would keep the animatronics out for very long, but it could buy him time to grab the mask or wind the music box._

_Jeremy collapsed in his seat afterward. He barely turned on the desk monitor when the phone rang. Wearily, he hit the speaker button and waited for the cameras to boot up._

"_Hello? Hello?" his unnamed coworker greeted him._

"_Hey," Jeremy said, in a faint Irish brogue._

_He barely caught his breath from that run._

"_Uh...what on earth are you doing there?" his coworker asked, sounding concerned._

_Jeremy sat at attention then._

"_I'm...working?" he asked, confused._"_Uh, didn't you get the memo?"_"_Memo?" Jeremy suddenly got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "What memo?"_

_His coworker tried not to sound too frantic._

"_Uh, the place is closed down, uh, at least for a while."_"What?"

_This was news to him._

"_Why?"_

_"Someone used one of the suits," his coworker answered. By his tone...something happened. Something bad, and the man struggled to keep composure about it. "We had a spare in the back, a yellow one. Someone used it...now none of them are acting right."_

Like they were ever acting right before…

_But Jeremy pushed that thought back, staring at the empty hallway before him. His last-minute plan to block the vents might have just come in handy._

"_Listen, j-just finish your shift," his coworker continued. "It's safer than trying to leave in the middle of the night."_

_"O-okay," Jeremy replied, looking at the mask._

_And trying not to panic at the thought of wearing it again. He perked as his coworker spoke up._

"_Uh, we have one more event scheduled for tomorrow, a birthday."_

_"Okay…?"_

"_You'll be on day shift, wear your uniform. Stay close to the animatronics; make sure they don't hurt anyone, okay?"_

_"I wish someone gave me a heads-up, but sure."_

"_Uh, for now just make it through the night. Uh, when the place eventually opens again, I'll probably take the night shift myself."_

_"Thanks…"_

_"Okay, goodnight and good luck."_

_"...Goodnight," Jeremy said, warily._

_He hung up the phone, his stomach lurching with anticipated sickness._

_Something was off tonight, and it wasn't just the animatronics. Two nights ago, his coworker mentioned something about an investigation going on, and just yesterday, he was informed that being switched to the day shift might become a possibility. Now it just did._

_Briefly, Jeremy wondered if the day shift guard had anything to do with this. That he used the suit to-_

_He quickly stopped thinking about it, pushing back the only reason he could think of for someone using a suit and getting arrested for it. That a child could have been hurt, and in ways that made him sick just for putting those pieces together._

_Jeremy looked to the vents, currently blocked off with some of the monitors. It probably wouldn't stop them, but he had a bit more time to disguise himself if one of the animatronics tried to get in. Still, thinking on their behavior in the last few nights, his coworker's warnings to their escalating aggression, how they all seemed to have gone berserk…_

_He briefly recalled something his coworker told him before. That they were still fine with kids. That it was _

adults _they had a problem with._

_..._They know something_, Jeremy thought._ They _have_ to_._

_Why else would they be doing this? Even if the investigation was concluded...was it possible that the police had the wrong person? That the _real _culprit was still among them?_

_He wished there was a way to talk to the bots. To find out what they knew. But as he listened to the sounds of the building, flicked the flashlight down the hall, and held down the spacebar to trigger the remote on Cam 11, Jeremy knew the only way he would get any answers was to last through tonight and the birthday party tomorrow._

_Maybe then, he could talk to management, see if there was a way to retrieve data from their memory files._

* * *

_Not even half an hour passed, with the bots cycling in and out with alarming frequency. Jeremy held his breath as he heard something in the right vent pushing against the monitor blockade. And when he saw a brilliant blue hand at the edge of the monitor, he grabbed the hollow Freddy head and pulled it on._

_Two long blue ears with white, blue-tinged insets poked out after the hand. The monitor scraped against the once-new tile floor as the robot pushed it into the room. Jeremy sat completely still, the mask held in place with both hands to keep the heavy Freddy head properly balanced, his legs trembling under the desk where they couldn't be seen._

_For the second time tonight, Toy Bonnie crawled inside the room. He pulled himself up, his ears straightening as high as they could go, the bright office lights shining off his plastic blue body. Jeremy watched the robot's bright green eyes shrink, his plastic mouth open in a wide, creepy smile, and closed his eyes as the flickering flash of the scan sequence took him in._

_He panicked, just wanting to throw off the mask and run. Only his fear of potential destruction overrode his phobia enough to force every muscle to still save for his legs. Jeremy hated that Toy Bonnie in particular liked to come up this close to him, entrap him, as if the animatronic _knew _about his issue with tight, small spaces._

_And intentionally made him panic to try to force him to reveal himself as a human._

_But the Freddy head seemed to fool him as well as most of the others, and the large blue bunny never seemed to notice his panicked breaths or the sweat and tears rolling down his face just behind the mask's eyes. All he cared about was whether or not Jeremy passed for one of them._

_The scan sequence complete and the animatronic satisfied, Toy Bonnie turned to leave the room. Jeremy listened for the large, heavy footsteps, dared to open his eyes. He caught the blue shine off the rabbit's back and waited until he no longer saw that bright blue color in the dark hallway. Once safe, he practically threw off the mask, taking deep, gasping breaths as he reached up to wipe the sweat from his face, the tears from his eyes._

_God, if he made it through tonight, it'd be a miracle._

_With short, sharp breaths, Jeremy flicked the flashlight down the hallway, shuddering with relief to find it empty save for the residual movement of Toy Bonnie's retreating form. He had a minute._

_Sweat pouring from under his hat, Jeremy hit the spacebar to trigger the remote on the music box._

_In and out._

_Just breathe._

_Enjoy the maskless air for as long as you can and wind the music box._

_Think of going home after the birthday party tomorrow, of a well-deserved rest, the warmth of his family, and the arms of his boyfriend._

_Despite his happier thoughts, Jeremy trembled as he picked up the flashlight again to double check, then got up to ensure the vents were clear, and to push the monitor back from where Toy Bonnie had pushed it out of the way. He ignored the scuff marks from the in-and-out war he had with the animatronics since the night began. Management might be pissed, but living through this took higher priority._

_Just as he got it back into place, a familiar, "Hello?" echoed in the room. Jeremy froze as he heard the familiar banging in the walls when one of them entered the vents, and whoever occupied it now pushing against the other monitor. Jeremy winced and rushed back to his seat, grabbing the mask and holding it at the ready._

_It always took Balloon Boy longer than the others to move the monitor out of the way, especially with his sphere-shaped hands and lack of strength and agility the others had. Only when he saw the top of the little robot's twirly hat did he pull on the mask._

Go away, go away, go away…

_Balloon Boy stopped trying to push the monitor away after a moment. He peered through the gap he made, and as soon as he saw the night guard with the Freddy head in place, he ducked back, more easily satisfied than the others. Jeremy listened for the metallic clanks in the wall until they faded, then breathed as he pulled off the mask, trembling with anxiety. He hated how closed-in and vulnerable he felt, and doing this for almost a week hadn't helped his panic attacks in the least._

_He grabbed the flashlight again to check the hall-just in time; the old decrepit Foxy stopped in his tracks and froze as the light forced a reset-then looked at the monitor on his desk, quickly flipped through the cameras to see where everyone was._

_Toy Freddy and Toy Bonnie passed each other by the bathrooms. Mangle's static assaulted his ears by the Prize Corner, and the chimes of the music box meant he was safe for a minute from the creepy puppet. Foxy lingered by the Parts and Service room, and inside it, the old Freddy hadn't moved._

_But someone else did._

_Not that he had too much time to determine which one it could be when so many of them were active._

_After a quick glance to the party rooms, where he found three of the four occupied with the Chicas and the older faceless Bonnie, he did a mental check of each animatronic, keeping an eye on the hallway and flipping back to Cam 11 to wind the music box as he did._

_Toy Freddy, Toy Bonnie, and Toy Chica: check. Mangle and Puppet: accounted for. Balloon Boy: just left, and the little ninja never appeared on-camera anyway. Old Freddy: hadn't moved yet tonight. Old Bonnie and Chica: active, and he'd probably see one of them soon. Old Foxy: had not come back just yet._

_Jeremy got up to reset the monitor that Balloon Boy moved, flicking the flashlight down the hall as he did. As he pushed it back into place, an awful thought struck him. The old Freddy had yet to activate tonight, but there was movement in that back room. The other old animatronics were all elsewhere, and the Toy models _never _went near it._

_Forgetting the monitor for a moment, Jeremy ran for the desk and quickly changed the view from Cam 11 to Cam 8._

_Freddy still lay there, like an overgrown teddy bear some child tossed aside. Something else moved in the room, shifting and moving just out of sight. Jeremy squinted, trying to pick it out in the dark. Something about this figure seemed off, its stature smaller than most of the animatronics, the movements less jerky, more precise, almost like a…_

_Jeremy's eyes widened in horror on the realization._

_..._Human_._

_The sound of footsteps caught his attention again, and he looked up, flicking the flashlight down the hallway once more. No Foxy this time, but Bonnie, with his missing face and red LED lights marking where he once had eyes. Jeremy bit his lip, his hands near the mask. The bright lights usually forced a reset and made them go away, but Bonnie…_

_The ancient animatronic liked to linger there, staring with its red pinprick eyes. Long wires hung from his missing left arm, like snakes lying in wait. Jeremy flicked the light off and on a few times, trying to urge him to leave. Yet Bonnie stood there, the fingers on his uncovered right hand twitching, the metal endoskeleton longing to grip. After a few more flicks of the flashlight, he finally turned to go. Jeremy forced himself to breathe, then got up to ensure the vents were covered. He checked the hallway to ensure its emptiness as he made his way back to his desk._

_He had minutes if that old robot was being generous. He barely had time to go back to Cam 11 to wind the music box before he went back to the Parts and Service view._

_He saw it again, that silhouette in the dark with the old Freddy lying beside him._

_What was that man doing?! God, he was going to get himself killed!_

_Jeremy perked for a moment, listening for the noise in the vents. Nothing yet, and a quick check of the hallway showed it was clear. He took a few seconds to make sure he had his extra batteries, then looked at the mask._

_Dare he risk it?_

_He winced, knowing in his rush to get into the office before midnight, he hadn't checked the building. That someone was there who shouldn't be._

_...Shouldn't be…_

_Jeremy perked at that, the investigations coming to mind. Why_

else _would the man be here? Was he hiding something? Destroying evidence? He tried to get a better look at him from the feed, but the darkness of the back room made details nearly impossible to pick out._

_A metallic_ thump _echoed from behind the walls, interrupting his thoughts. It followed with a metallic _screech _and the sound of something large being dragged. Jeremy imagined Bonnie with his one hand, the endoskeleton fingers gripping the vent, pulling in his massive body into it as the animatronic's feet pushed it forward._

_You have a moment. He has to maneuver and turn, and only has one hand. Ignore it until he pushes against the monitor._

_Jeremy looked back to the screen. He couldn't tell what the man was doing, but he didn't look like he was stealing anything. As he let his eyes adjust to the monitor, he discovered the man wore some sort of uniform; maybe it was a police officer?_

_The metallic banging came closer, followed a second later by the scraping sound. Jeremy changed screens to Cam 11, holding down the spacebar as he grabbed the flashlight._

_Wind the box._

_Pay attention to Bonnie trying to get in._

_Keep the hallway clear._

_The scraping grew louder and more forceful. Jeremy set the flashlight down and turned to the left vent, saw the metal fingers gripped around the edge of the monitor and stared in sheer _

awe _at the power and force Bonnie exerted to move it. Even Toy Bonnie didn't move it that fast with _both _of his hands._

_He pulled the mask on a second later, and like before, he held his breath and tried not to tremble. Unlike his newer counterpart, Bonnie was never as easily satisfied to just leave. The animatronic stared down at him, scrutinizing what felt like once, twice, ten times as he scanned the night guard. Jeremy stared at the LED pinpricks, the empty, soulless face and the hanging jaw. The rabbit's ears twitched, one lifting slightly in curiosity, the other bent forward, pointing._

Accusing_._

_The animatronic bent forward, lifting his uncovered hand. Jeremy let out a soft noise, then bit his lip. The metal fingers glinted in the light, then stopped as the scan completed. Every muscle tensed, and his breath hitched, not daring to show any signs of life. Jeremy didn't even dare to blink, even with his eyes starting to water._

_Bonnie stared for a moment, then turned to go. The tall robot disappeared into the shadows, and it was all Jeremy could do to keep from collapsing. He yanked off the mask, taking in rich, deep breaths._

_He listened to the footsteps leave, Bonnie's one uncovered foot echoing loudly while his still-padded foot hardly made a sound. He trembled as he checked the back room quickly, then changed views to wind the music box again._

_Jeremy listened for the vents, actually appreciating the quiet. A check of the hallway showed it empty._

_As he wound the box, his mind went to the human in the parts and service room, unaware of the danger he was currently in. All he knew was that sooner or later, Freddy would stop playing possum and take him out. Maybe the bear was justified in his inevitable vengeance. Or maybe this man was an officer who was doing an after-hours investigation without knowing what he was truly in for._

_Either way, there was no way Jeremy could help him. The music box only stayed wound for about three minutes at most; even if by some miracle he avoided everyone else, just getting down the hall and into the room would take up about half that time._

_More noises in the vents. More movement in the hall. No time to check any other camera views, only to keep pacifying the Puppet in between warding off the others. By the time the opportunity came to check the Parts and Service room again, he found it empty. Even Freddy had finally activated._

_Jeremy pulled the mask on as Toy Chica got in through one of the vents, no longer focused on the man in the back room. He heard the other monitor being shifted, and familiar static. Carefully, he held the mask up in one hand, bracing the other side of it with his shoulder as he reached for the spacebar. Even with Mangle and Toy Chica approaching from both sides, he could at least buy himself time, and grab the flashlight once they both left._

_Just keep them all out._

_Survive until morning._

_Talk to management and see if anything can be done._

_The juggling act increased as each minute passed, leaving Jeremy with almost no time to check the cameras. Keep the box wound. Flick the flashlight down the hall. Try to keep track of who came by and who to potentially watch out for. Block the vents again if time allows._

_Jeremy finally got a moment's peace, not that he expected it to last. No metallic banging came from inside the vents, the hallway stood empty, and the music box cheerfully played at full capacity. Now was as good a time as any to do a roll call._

_He found all the Toys almost immediately, either in the party rooms or by the prize counter. The old Chica and Foxy hung in the back by the bathrooms, old Bonnie in Party Room 1 where he threatened to get closer to the vent, with only Freddy unaccounted for. On a hunch, he checked the back room, and needed only to see the ears and shape of his top hat to flip views. If something happened to the man, he didn't want to know._

_Jeremy picked up the flashlight again, knowing well how fast they could move._

_There stood Freddy, tall, brown, his black top hat hidden by the height of the doorframe, his blue eyes looking at him almost wearily. Jeremy's heart stopped for a second. Hadn't Freddy just been in the Parts and Service room…?_

_He ducked down behind the monitor, taking only a second to go back to Cam 8. There, he saw the shape of the head, the hat, a microphone clasped in his right hand. Only now he was in a lit portion of the room, where he clearly saw _this _Freddy…_

_...Was _gold_._

We had a spare in the back, _his coworker told him,_ a yellow one. Someone used it...now none of them are acting right.

...That man! _Jeremy thought._

_But the sudden sound of footsteps entering the room forced him to grab the mask and pull it on. And none too soon, for now Freddy leaned down, his old, paling blue eyes staring right into his, his smile looking...weary. Almost concerned. But like with all the others, Jeremy held as still as possible, though his rapid, panicked breathing and the tremors running through his body should have given him away by now. Freddy turned to go after a time. And even with hearing the noises from the vents, Jeremy yanked the mask off to take a few deep breaths, to let his red face cool a little._

_All he focused on was breathing. To try to still his quivering body, to wipe the buckets of sweat from his dark brown hair, to try to remember his task. To get out of this alive and home tomorrow._

_Only when he calmed down enough to breathe relatively normally again did he remember the golden Freddy._

_That the person behind it was up to something._

_Was responsible for whatever went on this week._

_The metallic banging from the vents forced his attention back to his job. Jeremy grabbed the mask. He didn't even look at who was trying to get in. He simply waited for the banging to fade away from the office before he once more yanked off the mask._

_Flick the flashlight._

_Wind the box._

_Use this moment to find the golden bear._

_Jeremy checked the Parts and Service room again. He let out a terrified noise at what came up in the camera view. This time, the golden Freddy looked directly up at him, the mascot's eyes empty and soulless. Only the barest shine of human eyes flickered behind them, too dark to pick out a color, but with just enough life to set him on edge. The open, hanging costume jaw created an almost mocking grin._

I know you're there_, he seemed to say._

_He was coming._

_And of all the animatronics, Jeremy feared this one the most._

_This person in gold._

_This person who hurt children._

_This person who for reasons unknown came back tonight, when only one living soul was supposed to be here._

_Jeremy's blood ran cold at the thought. Alone with this person, and forced to engage with every animatronic that got too close._

_No way out._

_No way to defend himself._

_Jeremy tightened his grip around the flashlight until his knuckles turned white. He checked the hallway, for once almost glad to see Foxy right there._

_It meant the man in gold couldn't pass him and get into the office just yet._

_He simultaneously held down the spacebar with the monitor set to Cam 11, his eyes going to the phone on his desk. Normally, he wouldn't dare: who would believe him, and worse, what would happen if the animatronics attacked any officer coming in to help?_

_But now there was a predator on the loose, one who came back tonight. There would never again be a chance like this._

_A quick check to the vent cameras to make sure they were clear before he picked up the phone and dialed 911. Jeremy used his shoulder to keep it to his ear, flicked the flashlight to make sure Foxy still stood as a barrier, then turned back to Cam 11 and hit the spacebar._

"_You've reached the 911 Emergency Hotline," came a recorded female voice._

_Jeremy's heart froze._

"_All circuits are busy right now. Please hold for the next available operator and be prepared to give the nature of your emergency and your phone number."_

No, no, no, no, no...not now! Why now?

_Still, he had to keep vigilant. He flicked the flashlight quickly - good, Foxy, stay _there_! - and listened for the vents. One of them was making noise; how was he going to use the mask?!_

_Jeremy tuned out the hold music for a second as he checked the hallway. Still blocked with a large red pirate fox. Never before did he _ever _think he'd find that comforting, but holy _hell _did it ease him right now._

"_All circuits are busy right now," the calm voice said. "Please hold for the next available operator-"_

"_Pick up already!" Jeremy whispered, his voice fierce with terror and frustration._

_He heard one of the monitors moving and let go of the spacebar and the flashlight. Jeremy kept the phone against his shoulder as he reached for the mask, closing his eyes and holding his breath as he pulled it on._

_It kept the panic away for as long as he didn't see it or smell the distinct funk that came with wearing it. When forced to take a breath, his panicked breathing nearly blocked out the automated voice and hold music._

_And his eyes opened to a pair of purple ones staring down into his soul, the plastic sunk deep into their yellow sockets. He actually jumped, and by some miracle, didn't drop the phone._

"_-Prepared to give your emergency-"_

"_...Please go," Jeremy whispered, the plea pathetic on his own lips, let alone what Chica thought._

_She tilted her head almost curiously, giving him a view of her pointed beak, some of the wires protruding from her broken head. Jeremy closed his eyes tightly. He tried to just focus on the hold music, that someone would pick up...and tried not to imagine what Chica would do if she caught him. If his head would fit inside her mechanical jaws..._

_The hold music suddenly cut out, and the panicked jolt from his body sent the phone clattering to the floor. Jeremy opened his eyes to complete darkness. No lights from above, no glow from the monitor. Was Chica still there? Could she see him? God, he wanted to throw off the mask and just collapse into a ball under the desk. Even with his own heavy breaths loudly echoing in his ears, Jeremy swore he heard another sound from the hallway. Like...metal hitting metal._

_A moment later, something crashed in the hallway. Almost immediately, he heard something large and old move in the dark, turning around to investigate. Her metal joints creaked and groaned, and he imagined the top of her broken head bobbing up and down, the wires shifting against each other, the tip of one broken endoskeleton arm scratching against the doorframe as she entered the hallway._

_He threw off the mask then, and buried his face in his hands to sob with terror._

_Alone in the dark with no way out, no way to call for help...no way to see him coming._

_And the man _was _coming for him, he knew. The only thing big enough to make a metallic crash like that was one of the animatronics. Did he take one of them out? If so, which one? And how?_

_Jeremy's quivering hand felt for the flashlight on the desk, and after a few seconds of fiddling with it, found the switch. The beacon shone brightly in the hallway. Chica must have ducked into one of the party rooms, as he didn't see her, but he caught..._something_...at the end._

_He stood up from the desk, having to grip the edge of it to keep himself steady as he tried to determine what he saw. The beam flickered a little, the batteries already on their last legs, but he saw enough._

_Metal feet glimmering in the light. Flecks of red behind them, a long snout and sharp teeth looking up to the ceiling._

_His heart simultaneously sank and pounded, his pulse throbbing in his ears. Jeremy's legs gave out and he fell back into his chair. Of all the animatronics, Foxy would have seen through the man's costume. The others, he could safely fool._

_Out of habit, Jeremy hit the spacebar, only to notice the sudden silence in the room, the one crucial element he needed the power for._

_For most of them, he could listen for the vents, even use the flashlight if the noises got too close. But now he had no way of winding the music box. And with the man in gold on the loose and now the Puppet, it was only a matter of time before one of them got to him._

_Jeremy listened for the familiar noises. If anything, he better heard the vents, the footsteps, the little noises giving them away. He reached up to loosen his tie, the heat from his body now a lot more noticeable without the fan running. So far, he was safe, but every second of relative silence was another second lost before one of them came for him._

_Ducking under the desk, Jeremy pulled out his wallet and set it down, then fished for the spare batteries in his pocket. He set them beside him where he could easily get to them. He then quickly unscrewed the flashlight, hurriedly shook out the old batteries, and grabbed the new ones. Even without Foxy to worry about, the flashlight and the mask were his only weapons. And even if by some miracle he survived, he would use every opportunity he had to spare himself for another moment._

_The noises from the vents started as he got the flashlight back together. Jeremy stayed down under the desk, held his breath to listen._

_The left. It was coming from the left._

_Reaching above him, he felt for the end of the desk and pulled himself back up. He now stood in front of the desk instead of behind it._

_If anything, he could try to duck to either side of the doorway, buy himself a few seconds to make the Puppet search for him._

_Taking a deep breath, he flicked the flashlight over to the left vent. Even with the monitor blocking it, he saw movement, a shadow from inside. Faintly, gentle chimes echoed in his ears, still far away, but gradually getting louder._

All around the cobbler's bench…

_Jeremy turned the flashlight to the hallway. Would the bright beam work on the Puppet?_

_More banging, now coming from the right. He shone the beam over and saw something blue quickly duck back. Back to the left, the bright beam trembling with his hand. The monitor looked closer to him now._

Stay back! _Jeremy thought._ I know you're there!  
_  
He reached behind him for the mask, knowing to have it ready no matter who got in. He turned around just long enough to shine the beam into the right vent, where he clearly saw Toy Bonnie's shrunken green pupils staring at him._

_As the beam crossed the hallway, something white and pink slipped just out of sight, but Jeremy couldn't focus on that, only to keep the bright beams on Toy Bonnie to try to force a reset._

All around the cobbler's bench…

_He pulled the mask on, urging the rabbit to go away. Behind him, the sound of something heavy scraping against linoleum caught his attention. With much difficulty, Jeremy turned around, adjusting the mask in time to see the left monitor being pushed in his direction. Footsteps in the hallway alerted him to a different danger, forcing him to look away._

_His only comfort came from them being too heavy to be the Puppet. The relief left his lips when Toy Freddy's bulky form stood in the doorway._

_Jeremy held still, awkwardly holding the Freddy head up with one hand. Toy Freddy looked down at him, and the sudden flickering from his eyes as he scanned the mask made Jeremy dizzyingly ill as his body trembled, his breathing stilted, and his legs tightened as every fiber in his being fought back the panic attack. To the right, he heard Toy Bonnie crawling out of the vent._

Trapped_, he thought._

_Trapped in the mask. Trapped between the two animatronics, and who or whatever was in the vent behind him. Trapped as the Puppet gunned for him._

All around the cobbler's bench…

_Toy Freddy's satisfaction carried over to Toy Bonnie, and as the bear turned to go, the rabbit followed with no further issues. Jeremy yanked off the mask and threw it far away from him. He fell to his knees, one hand gripping the flashlight, the other covering his mouth as terrified sobs forced their way out of his throat._

_He heard the chimes grow louder, heralding the Puppet's arrival, his own doom. It would need to pass Toy Freddy and Toy Bonnie, but he still likely had seconds at most._

_Another sound caught his attention._

_Movement. The rustle of cloth._

_Lifting the flashlight, Jeremy scanned the room, the vents, the desk..._

_...Where he saw a flash of gold suddenly duck down behind it._

He's here!

_Jeremy turned off the flashlight, knowing he just marked his position._

_The sudden darkness hurt his eyes, and he briefly hoped the man's own vision suffered. Jeremy held his breath, carefully pushed himself back up onto his feet. Cautiously, he stepped toward the left vent. No noise meant he had a chance of leaving the room alive...but for how long? He couldn't find the mask in the dark, and without it, he was a dead man. Silently cursing his panicked impulses, he took a step._

_Better this than nothing._

All around the cobbler's bench…

_He stopped as he heard movement again._

_The man? One of the animatronics? The Puppet?_

_Jeremy slowly let out his stifled breath, sucked in another as quietly as he could. Cold sweat covered his arms, his back, his legs, and every limb quivered despite his efforts to still them. Just keep moving. He can't see you, and the more obvious tactic would be to try the hallway._

_He jolted as the metallic banging from the walls echoed in the dark room, a panicked noise escaping his throat. Jeremy froze, unable to tell which side the noises originated from. Even worse, the banging masked every sound except the approaching musical chimes. He hoped it also masked his tiny startled cry._

_Clutching the flashlight like a sword, he quickly looked behind him. Nothing in the dark so far, no glowing animatronic eyes, no sounds he could make out in the hallway save for the chimes of death. Nothing to see but shapeless darkness. He turned back, carefully stepping to the side._

_Just get to the vent._

_Get out._

_He took a step forward. And a second later, he choked and struggled as something grabbed the back of his shirt collar and yanked him back._

_The flashlight crashed to the floor, the switch flickering on just enough to provide a dim light. Jeremy grabbed for his collar, tried to loosen the thing's grip. The tips of his fingers touched plush fabric, and his heart sank as he turned, trying to get a look at the thing's face._

_He caught brief glints of gold at the edge of his vision, empty sockets with eyes he couldn't see. He picked out the outline of round ears, a top hat, a jolly smile turned sinister._

_Jeremy tried to pull away, pulling his captor forward. Another hand - gold in the faint light - reached out and grabbed his arm, with the creature's other hand loosening his collar only to wrap his fingers around Jeremy's throat._

"_It's coming for you," came a calm, quiet whisper._

_Jeremy tried to elbow him with his free arm. He met only a hard costume shell, creating a hollow _

thud _that echoed around the room. The tightened grip on his throat and arm stole the rest of the fight from him. While he struggled to breathe, Jeremy felt his body turned around, then thrown straight into something flat and hard. Pain shot through his head, his back, and ribs. Before he could regain his bearings, those strong fingers grabbed him again, and this time slammed him face-first into the desk, knocking away the fan and some of the crumpled papers._

_Dizzy, in pain, and terrified, Jeremy tried to stand. The man once more tightened his grip around his neck, then turned him to face the hallway, the night guard hanging like a rag doll in his grip. Two pinpricks now shone brightly in the darkness, incoming like a train._

All…

_The grip on his throat tightened, cutting off further attempts to breathe or cry out._

Around the…

_The lights vaguely showed the outline of the eyes, the tops of the bright red cheeks, a glimpse of its purple tears._

Cobbler's…

_He began to see stars in his vision. But the residual light allowed him to see the twisted smiling face, the striped, outstretched arms, the white buttons flying over his head._

_Jeremy didn't remember anything else, not when his vision faded back to darkness and the sounds no longer registered in his mind._

* * *

_His head throbbed as he regained consciousness. Jeremy tried to breathe, his back tightening with pain along his spine, his chest still dully aching. Briefly, he remembered how the man grabbed him and slammed him into the desk._

_The man..._

_Slowly, he began to comprehend._

_The man, he remembered. The man in gold. The man who attacked him. The man who hurt children._

_He couldn't think about that now. Just try to look up, move-_

_Jeremy's breath hitched as he noticed the eye holes he now stared out of. The musky, heavy smell of the mask filled his nostrils. Something about it seemed different, but that took a back seat as he forced himself to remain calm, stifled back a panicked cry._

Don't panic_, he told himself. _You were wearing the mask before. Just reach up, and-  
_  
He felt something tight against his arms and fingers. Something like...metal? Jeremy held up his hands, then saw the soft golden material over them. It only took a second to piece it together. It took less than that for a panic attack to start._

_Fear didn't just grip him. It held him in a chokehold as he struggled to pull off the mask, breathing heavily as he tried to slip the thick gloved fingers under the collar to no avail. Had to get out, had to get help. Had to find the man, and then…then what?_

_No time to think. Just survive._

_Jeremy held his breath for a moment. He tried to ignore the tears trickling down his face, the sweat trickling over his arms, neck, and chest. Tried to remind himself it was just a costume, that he could still stand and move, that he wasn't completely trapped. But his struggling panic forced him to register the metal encasing his body. Certain pieces poked and scratched against his bare skin - the man had taken his shirt - with every movement threatening to pierce flesh. His fingers were all trapped in individual slots, his toes with some sort of metal separators forced between them, even tearing through his socks._

_It all enforced the idea he was trapped in a full-body metal cage. Panic overcame reason, and the attacks started again._

_Trapped, his mind told him. Trapped inside some sort of strange animal costume, with no way out._

_Jeremy reached up for the mask again. If he could at least get that off…_

_His blood pounded in his ears. His breath came out in sharp, short bursts. His whole body trembled, and the heat from his own breath covered his face, a constant reminder of the tiny space that ensnared his head._

_He dug his fingers into the top of the mask's sockets in an attempt to yank it off. Only then did he notice the silver disks in front of him, narrowing his window to the outside world even more._

_The bottom of the mask caught on something. Like it was attached and refused to budge._

"_I wouldn't move if I were you."_

_Jeremy stopped, looking over toward the voice as he choked back another terrified sob._

"_They're sensitive, those spring locks. It's best to not even _breathe_."_

_As instructed, Jeremy stopped struggling, though residual tremors still coursed over his body. He felt the tight metal scratching at key points on his skin, and wondered if those were the "spring locks" the man mentioned. It didn't take much imagination to deduce that jostling them too much would lead to drastic consequences._

_Through his limited vision, he couldn't make out many details of his surroundings, though the pieces of scattered animatronic parts gave him an idea of his location. He picked out a figure, one with no distinct color or shape._

"_...W...why?" he managed, the word so faint, he wasn't sure he heard it himself._

_The figure approached him, only slightly stepping into the light. Jeremy picked out the familiar purple color of a uniform, the shape of human hands. He watched him kneel closer, getting an eyeful of his chest, a familiar yellow badge with Freddy's smiling face engraved in it._

"_We had a spare suit," the man said simply. "A yellow one."_

_Jeremy's blood ran cold. This person sounded _nothing _like his coworker on the phone. Were they working together?_

_Or had he been_listening_?_

_The man reached over and grabbed one of Jeremy's wrists. The movement forced contact with the metal cage-like pieces, making Jeremy wince and struggle a little as the man lifted the golden arm in front of the mask's eye sockets_

"_Someone used it."_

_Jeremy tried to look up at his captor, but all he saw through his tear-blurred vision was the man's twisted smile, a bit of peach-colored flesh outlined in the light, flecks of pale stubble. He shook his head, realizing the man's intentions. And despite his attempts to keep it back, he felt another panic attack beginning._

Don't move_, he reminded himself._

_The metal pieces warming against his skin served as a poignant reminder why. Despite it, he yanked his hand free, wanting at least for the man to not be touching him. Jeremy closed his eyes then, held his breath, tried push back his fear. Every instinct screamed at him to yank off the mask, try to pull it away. To fight back, to run, to do everything _except _hold still and pray the man didn't do something to force the spring locks to release. More tears rolled down his cheeks as he slowly let out a breath._

_The man spoke again, and Jeremy heard the smirk in his voice._

"_Such a shame you never got that memo."_

_Jeremy carefully tilted the head away, not wanting to look at him. Despite his best efforts, every muscle tensed and quivered. He pressed his palms against the floor, mostly to give his hands something to do. To ground them and keep them from grabbing for the mask, which would only ensure the panic attack he struggled to keep back overcame rational thought._

_If the man said anything else, Jeremy didn't hear it over his short, stilted breaths, the blood still pounding in his ears. The metal pieces rubbed against his skin, and his entire body felt hot, drenched, and choked in this costume-shaped tomb. With every metal piece that scratched him, tore at his pants and bare chest, with every breath warming his face, every quivering muscle giving off more heat, Jeremy winced and jolted, inspiring another wave of terror in a self-feeding cycle._

_A small sound caught his ears, something metallic, a tiny little creak. It took several seconds and a forced held breath for him to try to pinpoint it. The sound came just below his chin, at the base of his neck. A metal piece tightly scraped against his flesh, warm and moistened from the humid air inside the mask._

_His eyes widened as he felt the metal subtly vibrate, froze in terror at the sensation._

_Carefully, he let out the breath he held._

_Desperately, he sucked in another._

_Even the act of breathing could loosen them, the man said._

_Couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think…_

_Another choked sob escaped._

_And the spring lock finally gave._

_A long metal rod shot up through his neck, sliced through his larynx, and any screams quickly cut off save for a moist, gargled cry. Jeremy gagged on a choked and strangled breath, and out of reflex, he gasped for air and grabbed for the mask, every attempt to refresh his lungs its own agony._

_Blood pooled at the back of his throat. He tried to remove the rod, his costumed fingers too thick to do much good. The soft cloth barely grazed against what little skin showed between the mask and costume, unable to grip the thin animatronic part. The blood from his neck spread over his chest as he struggled._

_Jeremy's lungs burned from the lack of air. Every beat of his heart thumped louder, harder, feeding off the adrenaline that spawned from the knowledge of his fate. Several series of stabbing pain followed in quick succession a moment later. His lungs burst with each metal rod that broke through his chest, the animatronic ribs replacing his own. A strangled cry barely passed his lips, and he fell back into the wall, convulsing in painful spasms as more of his blood pooled underneath him._

_The throbbing heartbeat pounded all over his body. Another breath failed to pass the metal rod that cut through his larynx, adding to the growing pool of blood in his mouth._

_His gag reflex kicked in then._

_A shower of red sprayed through his lips, shooting up in a macabre geyser through the open eyes and mouth of the mask. Long trails of blood dripped like tears over the mask's cheeks, while more of the gruesome liquid dribbled down in streams over its chin and pattered onto the animatronic's chest. The mascot's plastic teeth now stained with blood, it held the appearance of enjoyment after a fresh kill._

_Feebly, Jeremy clutched at his chest, a vain attempt at self-preservation. The springs locks at his lap came next, forever crushing his pelvis. The sudden snap of his bones violently forced his entire body to jerk in reflex again. The movement forced the remaining locks at his arms and legs to release, one after the other. Shoulders and thighs. Elbows and knees. Wrists and ankles. Every metal piece stabbed like giant pins through his body, a macabre cross of an iron maiden and a voodoo doll._

_His head swimming, Jeremy fell silent and still, unable to move his ruined and mangled body anymore. His heartbeat grew weaker now, as if even _

it _realized the futility of its attempts to keep him alive. That was its own hell, that his heart somehow survived the spring locks intact._

_And made him listen to every beat as they steadily counted down to his demise._

_Tears rolled down his face as he lay there, spasming in pain, counting the last of his heartbeats. Only two final thoughts crossed his oxygen-deprived mind: the deathly chill he felt slowly coming over his body as his blood pooled beneath him...and the thought of who he was leaving behind._

_The final spring locks loosened. They shot up through his jaw and into his skull, forever preserving his open mouth in a silent scream._

_Jeremy's wide eyes stared up into the ceiling, the room fading from view._

_Clear._

_Blue._

_Forever open._

_He heard footsteps walking away, leaving him alone._

_Darkness faded in and out. Something moved in the shadows. His vision cleared only enough to see a dark silhouette hanging over him, the white light pouring in from the hallway forming an aura around its ovular head. The shadows of the room cloaked its face, revealing only its white pinprick eyes_

_A new voice entered his mind._

_One that was quiet._

_Wise._

_Unidentifiable._

Focus on me_._

_The room faded in the edges of his vision. Jeremy tried to obey, to stare up at the two tiny glimmers of light._

I am sorry, _the voice said_. He trapped me. I could not escape in time_._

_More tears flowed down his cheeks as he stared up at the eyes, too afraid to look away, to even blink. He felt three long, thin metal fingers slip into the mask's mouth, so it could gently stroke his cheek._

I know you are innocent. I know you are afraid. And I am going to help you, however I can_._

_Jeremy hardly registered the thing's touch anymore, felt tears and haziness blur his vision again._

It is all right. You are not alone in this.

But I promise, I will find a way.

I will find a way to make this right.


	28. The Crying Child

**Saturday, November 13, 1993**

_Jeremy_.

Upon hearing the name, Spring Bonnie lowered his hands, once more allowing the internal camera to take in new information. He looked up, to see the smiling white face in front of him, just as he had six years ago. White pinpricks shone from within the dark sockets, creating a soft shine on the Puppet's red cheek circles.

_I know what you are feeling right now,_ it said. _It hurts, being awoken like this. Seeing your reflection, and realizing what you are. Knowing what you _used _to be. Caught in your last moments_.

It gently knelt down in front of the golden rabbit.

_I was the first,_

it continued. _I was given life, and I gave it to the others._

_To save them._

_To save _you_._

_It was the only way._

The right ear drooped forward, and Spring Bonnie found the large, plush hands reaching up to cover the internal cameras again. He heard the Puppet shift around.

_I made a promise to you six years ago to this day. And I will _keep _that promise. Do you understand?_

While the plush hands still covered his eyes, Spring Bonnie's golden head gave a slow nod.

_You have a freedom the others do not,_

the Puppet explained. _They are bound by the rules of time. We will need your help._

_And his._

_And hers.  
_

He heard it slipping away on the microphones, though the Puppet's monotone voice was as clear as if it still remained at his side.  
_  
The smiling man has come back, _it said, quietly. _He will return once more to try to bury what he has done._

A somber moment of pause.  
_  
We will never have another chance._

* * *

The box stood before her, its distinctive blue-green wrappings taking in some of the dining room light, the purple ribbon circling the box in violet perfection. All around her, yellow masks with empty eyes stared from the shelves, some with short, round teddy bear ears, and others with the distinct bisected ears of the rabbits. Vanna clutched Dulcie to her chest, keeping her flashlight on the box.

_Was this here back then?_ she wondered.

A new attraction not yet in use. A new character waiting to debut, but locked away until the rebrand.

Vanna heard her little sister crying again.

_It's dark,_ Vesper sobbed. _I can't get out. Th-the lid won't open!_

Vanna quickly set Dulcie down on the table. She then leaned her flashlight against the cupcake, and used its switch to further prop it up and provide some light.

"I'm coming, Vesper," Vanna said as she turned back to the box. "I'm almost there."

_I w-want to go h-h-home!_

"And I'll bring you home," she promised.

Vanna took a breath, and stepped toward the giant present.

For a second, the room flashed, once more in shadow, only with the present box looking a bit bigger than before, the top of the box just under her eye level. The vision disappeared after a second, and she picked up her pace, reaching the normal-sized box in two quick strides.

Vanna carefully reached for it. The box radiated with warmth, a small pulse under her touch.

Like a heartbeat.

Her purple sleeves disappeared before her, leaving only her bare arms and hands on the lid.

Smaller, younger hands that recently shed the last of their baby fat.

Vanna blinked, and she saw her purple sweater still covering her arms again, her long, thin adult fingers resting over the blue-green lid, her dark nails barely scratching against the top.

Choosing to ignore whatever tricks her mind just played, she sucked in a breath, then found the seam where the top split open. She followed it to the edge and slid her fingers under the lid. Once in position, Vanna tried to lift the flaps open.

They wouldn't budge.

_There's something heavy on top.  
_  
"Vesper," Vanna said, "there's nothing here."

_It won't open. It opened before I fell asleep. It opened when I peeked outside_.

Vanna tried again, desperate to get her sister out. The box remained shut. In the back of her mind, she heard Vesper start to cry again.

_I can feel something's up there. It moved a little_.

The box suddenly disappeared from under her hands, leaving only a dark, empty void where it once stood. Vanna stumbled forward from the abrupt loss of solidity under her fingers. She tried to stand upright, only for her head to bump against something hard. The entire room around her disappeared, leaving behind inky blackness. She no longer saw the flashlight, Dulcie, or the shelves with their staring heads.

Only darkness, and the feeling that she wasn't alone.

"Vesper?"

Vanna tried to step back, only to feel a wall behind her. Trying any other direction brought similar results. Some sort of angled wood in front of her blocked some of the space, further limiting her movements. Running her hands over it told her it was two planks crossed together, and that alone told her her mystery location. She was unable to stand upright thanks to that and the suddenly low ceiling. The little room felt warm and stale, and smelled of cloth and resin. It reminded her for a moment of waking up with her face smothered in blankets and the quick panic that followed before freeing herself to the cool and open air...only the cool air never came, and each breath warmed the tiny space a little more.

Vanna again tried to stand, pressing her hands as hard as she could against the ceiling. She heard something above her shift, creaking only a little before it settled. Vanna tried different points in the ceiling to try to make it move again. But whatever it was wouldn't budge.

_It won't move anymore_, Vesper sobbed.

Vanna pushed again. The air grew hotter with every breath, making her dizzy. Her arms and legs ached from force and exertion.

_No one can hear me,_ Vesper continued, _even though I'm screaming_.

"I hear you," Vanna whispered.

But only a frightened voice, and no screams.

Her throat ached suddenly, raw and dry.

As if she'd been screaming herself.

_Why can't they hear me?_ Vesper sobbed. _Why won't anyone come?_

Vanna's chest panged as she gasped for air. The sudden pain forced her to take a quick reprieve. She positioned herself against one wall and sat down to listen and collect her thoughts. Oddly enough, there was just enough space to comfortably do so, thanks to a gap in the bottom of the crossed planks where she could slide her feet.

"I hear you," she said again, practically choking out the words, "and I'm here."

_Please find me, Vanna. I'm scared. I want to get out of here. I want to go _home_!_

"I'm here, Vesper."

..._She can't hear me. No one can hear me. I'm trapped_.

"Vesper..."

_I can't scream anymore. I can't breathe_.

Vanna felt her stomach sink as a horrible thought slowly crept into her mind.

"...Can _you_ hear me?" she whispered.

_My chest hurts,_ Vesper said, not acknowledging the question. _I need my air medicine._

Something shifted at her feet. Vanna quickly withdrew her legs and curled them up against her chest.

_I'm not alone_, came Vesper's voice. _There's something in here with me_.

"Puppet," Vanna said quietly, the word barely audible to her own ears.

If it heard her, it didn't move or answer. In her mind, her sister continued to cry.

_I don't want to be here anymore. I want my mommy. I want my sister. I want to go _home_!_

Two soft pinpricks glowed in the dark. Vanna barely picked out the tops of its cheeks, the edge of its smile. The warm air made her vision hazy, and the tells of the face faded in and out as it came closer. It stopped for a moment, its face tilting up towards the ceiling. Soft scratching sounds told her it, too, was pushing, before it turned back to her.

_It's trapped too_, Vesper said.

Long, thin arms gently cradled Vanna.

_Something's hugging me,_ Vesper continued. _I'm still scared_.

Vanna tried to pull away. Whether it was the dizziness that overcame her, the overwhelming heat, or her own fatigue from trying to get out, she simply gave in.

_It's too...warm in here. I'm still coughing._

She found herself resting her head against Puppet's chest. Vanna closed her eyes as tears trickled down her cheeks.

_I'm...tired,_ Vesper said. Her voice weakened and quieted. _My chest hurts. But something's...hugging me...and it feels...nice._

_Maybe I'll...be okay._

_Vanna will...find me. She's...good...at hide...and...seek…_

_I'm...sleepy again._

_I can't...breathe._

_I_...

Cool air suddenly filled the room. Vanna choked on another breath at the sudden change in temperature, then opened her eyes.

In front of her, an old endoskeleton sat in the corner where the Puppet's box once stood. Her flashlight beam shone upon it, highlighting its gray metal and gentle brown eyes. Beside it stood a shelf stocked with various boxes and spare costume pieces, most of them brown or purple.

Things were normal again, back in the present.

Vanna shakily pushed herself back onto her feet, half-expecting to bump her head again. But she managed to stand upright with no problems this time. She blinked a few times to verify what she saw before her.

The endoskeleton watched her with its brown eyes, its dull gray metal illuminated in the light. Black and white tile on the floor. Shelves of animatronic costume pieces and boxes for miscellaneous storage. Up in the corner above the endoskeleton, the backstage camera stared down at her. The lack of a red light showed it was currently off.

Vanna turned around, tracing the light beam to her flashlight still sitting on the edge of the table, with Dulcie smiling its goofy smile beside it. The wooden table otherwise remained empty, with no weird partially-built animatronic on it anymore. Masks of Bonnie, Chica, and Freddy stared at her from various parts of the room.

The _brown_ Freddy and the _purple_ Bonnie.

Not the golden counterparts from Fredbear's Family Diner.

The lights flickered, then darkened the room for a split second. Vanna quickly grabbed her flashlight, then turned back around to face the endoskeleton. Its head tilted slightly to the side. Maybe it shifted? Vanna carefully held out a hand and shakily moved it over its eyes. The endoskeleton remained still, its eyes still staring ahead. Convinced that it was off and detected no movement, Vanna carefully reached to touch its arm, her breath hitching as her finger made contact.

Metal.

Cold, unmoving metal, not the warm, pulsing resin she felt before.

She let out a breath of relief as she pulled her hand away, then took a step back. Vanna threw a quick glance over her shoulder to make certain she was still alone, before she reached to pick up Dulcie.

"What was _that_?" she whispered harshly, glaring into the thing's eyes.

The cupcake gave her no answer. Vanna took another quick glance around the room, completely on edge now. Something about this place brought her back in time.

And more than that, it took her to her little sister's last moments.

"Vesper?" she whispered, moving her flashlight around the room.

She half-hoped to see a pale blue dress and black pigtails, to hear the familiar clack of Mary Janes on the floor, even to smell the damn cake again.

"...Are you here?"

Before she could get an answer, a sharp shattering sound echoed from the far end of the dining room, soon followed by a loud, "Jesus fuck!" and hurried footsteps running toward the other side of the building, mingled with a series of further swears. Vanna turned around again, pulled out of her thoughts and back into reality.

Vesper forgotten for a moment, Vanna rushed over to the door to get to Mike. She skid to a stop as a long shadow approached from the dining room.

A shadow with two long ears on top of its head.

Thinking quickly, Vanna turned off the flashlight and ducked under the table as the purple Bonnie entered the backstage room. His head whirred as he looked around, his mechanical ears twitching as he listened for her. He stepped past the table, and Vanna dared to let herself think that maybe he hadn't seen her.

Until a loud skid and a sudden emergency light over her head forced her to look up. The giant purple rabbit had pushed the table back, revealing the human hiding underneath.

Bonnie towered over her, his arms outstretched as he glanced down at her. Vanna felt a scream die in her throat. For a brief second, Bonnie's eyes became green with long lashes, his plush became yellow, and his red bowtie turned purple. The smell of cake suddenly overpowered her senses, making her head feel heavy and faint.

She reached up to push him away as he leaned down further, one hand pushed up against his nose, and the other at the base of his right ear. Her fingers grazed the soft plush there. The only thought that came to mind was it didn't feel right.

No silk tangled in her fingers, only dusty old plush and a metal joint.

Like the cake still crowding her nose, she remembered silk.

Soft silk that gave her something to hold onto before the world went dark.

Her heart throbbed in her ears, blocking out any other sound. Her vision began to darken in the corner of her eyes. Did Bonnie's face return to normal? Or was that the shadows of the room, and her own fading vision?

_I'm going to die_, she thought.

But it wasn't due to Mike's near-miss with this same animatronic, or the knowledge of what happened to some of the other night guards.

They were remembered words that flashed through her mind a long, long time ago.

"...Bunny…"

Nothing else came to mind as she collapsed, the feel of plush sliding under her fingers until they hit hard, cold tile. Her vision continued to fade, and soon, all she saw anymore was the faint glow of Bonnie's red eyes, before even they, too, gave into the dark.

* * *

The sketches seemed to watch him as he walked down the hall. Mike glanced up to the wall of drawings, of happy families and cake and singing animatronics. For a moment, his eyes were drawn to the lone picture of Spring Bonnie, with its sunken eyes and yellow-gray scribbles.

He briefly remembered the vision he had last night, of the blue eyes behind a yellow mask.

_Jeremy's_ eyes, looking back at him from within his final prison.

Mike stepped into the dining room. Chica stood at attention at the end of the hall, watching him carefully. He swallowed hard as he passed by her.

Nothing changed. The silver stars still glittered overhead. The party hats sat in their perfect rows. Long white cloths hung from the tables. Over on the stage, Freddy stood alone, holding his microphone under his chin. Mike carefully walked forward. He glanced over to the furthest table, the one closest to the backstage room.

Where he and Vanna saw the boys.

_He was always there when I needed him,_ he thought. _Up until the day he disappeared_.

No vision took over his mind this time, only long-remembered voices that echoed around him as he walked toward the stage.

"_No peeking!"_ came a young voice tinged with an Irish accent.

"_I'm not, Jeremy!"_ another insisted.

"_Good. I don't want to ruin the surprise."_

Mike glanced over the dining room, feeling his heart sink a little. His eyes found the table at the far end, where the ghostly boys sat earlier.

No. Not ghosts.

_Memories_.

He took a step forward, his heart sinking more with each step. Slowly, that day came to him. As he looked around, his mind filled in the shadows of the past.

_The front door opened. Two little boys, eleven and nine, walked right into the smell of pizza and sounds of beeping games. Both of them had dark hair, the elder of the two with brown, the smaller boy with black. Both had blue eyes that took in the environment around them. Both of them wore blue jeans and t-shirts, sneakers that had seen better days_.

Mike blinked as flashes of that day came to him, of the numb shock as he stepped inside, the path Jeremy lead him on towards some of the better games. He heard the familiar clink of tokens as his best friend pulled a bag of them from his pocket, and for a brief moment, he felt a warm hand in his.

The excitement died. The warmth faded. Mike found himself at the end of the room, at the last table where he long ago had to take a seat from the overwhelming wave of emotion that surged over him.

"_...Why did you bring me here?" he'd whispered to Jeremy, all those years ago._

"_I'm sorry," the older boy told him. "I just thought…"_

_Jeremy took a breath, and Mike recalled the note of regret that slipped in._

"_...I just wanted to make you happy."_

He felt his lips tremble and forced it back. Mike's legs threatened to give out. He grabbed the chair at the end of the corner and pulled it out, taking a seat solely to not collapse. Before Jeremy brought him here on that day, he last set foot in this place about eight months prior, for his ninth birthday.

The very last time he came here with his parents.

Jeremy knew he'd loved this place and its characters. He found a stuffed Chica toy among the belongings Mike brought to the Fitzgerald home after that fatal car crash, and put the pieces together. He had been trying to do a good thing, to surprise him with something he loved, and to make a hurt and lonely little boy smile.

And Mike did, for a short time.

He took a moment to recompose before he forced himself to stand again, carefully pushing the chair back into place. That visit with Jeremy helped him deal with the loss, to create new memories with someone he loved, to let go, move on, and heal. And knowing now what happened to Jeremy, the wound opened once more, raw and gaping.

Mike stared at the party hats, again in a perfect row thanks to the purple Bonnie. A soft whirring caught his attention, and he looked across the room to where Chica still stood by the entrance to the west hall, the present box beside her almost reaching her waist. She tilted her head, still watching him. In her left hand, Dulcie watched with her.

"...How long have you known?" Mike whispered, remembering her friendship song. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

_Puppet said to wait_, Chica answered. _Some answers have to come to you_.

Puppet told him something similar last night.

"That it's...better for him to see me?" Mike asked.

_Yes,_ Chica answered. _It will be easier for you both to accept the truth_.

Mike started to say something else when the loud rapture of glass suddenly filled the room, making him jump.

"Jesus fuck!" he cried.

Another loud shatter rung in the air. His flashlight beam found the hallway by the bathrooms. It quickly dawned on Mike what could be breaking.

The mirrors.

One of them was smashing the mirrors.

His job momentarily flashing before his eyes, Mike sprinted in that direction.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

More glass shattered as he ran, the sounds increasing in rapid succession. Just as Mike rounded the partition, it stopped. Metal footsteps stumbled over the floor, echoing out of the boys' bathroom. A loud, clattering _THUD_ followed it, then the sound of something big settling against the wall.

_...Can't get out_, a voice sobbed.

A voice with a faint, but distinct Irish accent.

_I c-can't...move, I-I-I can't breathe...tr-trapped in here; I have to...no way o-out_...

Mike felt his heart sink. He'd always wished to hear that voice one more time, but never like this.

He stopped at the door, hesitant to go inside. He knew what he'd find: glass shards and cracks in the wall, an old animatronic...and his best friend, once upon a time.

..._This isn't my...oh god...wh-what has been done...done to me? W-why can't I-I-I…? Can't leave, c-can't..._

Mike stayed back for a moment. That thing was strong enough to break thick mirror glass. But the voice he heard, the words it spoke...

Jeremy had been kind and gentle, always with a composed, quiet smile and a soft-spoken tone. The broken, fearful words combined with the sounds of damage spoke of an uncharacteristic lack of control from him.

The sort of control he lost whenever he found himself in a fit of terror.

Mike's hand hovered over his pocket, where the watch warmed against his leg. The spring suits doubled as _costumes_. Tight spaces to be worn, with a mask that made it difficult for _anyone_ to breathe, let alone a claustrophobic.

_This isn't my face. I can't... I c-can't move. Can't breathe. Oh, god, I can't...m-my face…_

The words trailed off into bitter sobs. Mike's chest panged again. He needed to go inside, to face the monster his friend had become.

To try to calm him down.

Mike took a breath and reached up to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, trying to force back any other emotion that threatened to break through. He needed to be the strong one this time, to find a way to soften a wound that would never truly heal.

He took another moment to strategize. It was one thing for normal human Jeremy to flip out. It was another thing entirely when he inhabited a big metal body that judging from the prior crashing sounds, he might not have complete control over. He would stay back, try to talk him down, and be ready to make a break for it if needed.

With as good as a plan as he could get, Mike reached for the door, then carefully pushed it open. It creaked as he urged it forward, his flashlight drawn before him. He closed his eyes and took a breath, trying to prepare himself for what lurked around the corner.

An old yellow rabbit with a torn smile and a broken ear.

But more importantly, a friend, a _brother_, whom he loved and lost, and found again.

The door tapped against the wall as Mike stepped inside. More checkered tile greeted him, leading him into the room. He stepped forward, keeping close to the small partition that hid away the sinks and stalls. Mike stepped around it, and the first thing to catch his gaze was part of a cracked wall with glass shards barely clinging onto it. More shimmering shards winked from the floor and sink basins as he ran the flashlight over them. To the right, he heard something slide along.

Mike turned the flashlight toward the stalls and urinals. Before him sat a dingy, broken figure. It took a moment to take in what he was seeing.

Spring Bonnie sat against the edge of a stall, the door hanging open behind him. His knees were pulled into his chest, and his large, yellow hands covered his face. The robot trembled and clattered, much like a cornered human. Bitter sobs still rung in his mind, Jeremy's voice a strange juxtaposition to the body he currently inhabited.

Mike stepped back a little, keeping his eyes and the flashlight on the tortured being before him.

"...Jeremy?" he whispered.

The rabbit's good ear straightened. Slowly, the plush hands lowered from his face, his head tilting up. The old eyelids stalled in an attempted blink.

And white pupils glowed from behind the silver discs.

"Jeremy," Mike said again. "...It's me."


	29. Crisis

**Saturday, November 13, 1993**

The world faded back into view. Grey tile with white flecks appeared before her, segmented into square metal frames. On either side, shelves towered over her, with blank masks staring ahead.

Vanna blinked a few times, realizing that a rectangle of light brightened some of the tiles, the source coming from right behind her. Like before when she woke up after witnessing a horrific event, she couldn't move. Every nerve remained paralyzed, refusing to obey her panicked thoughts. Her cheeks felt cold and wet. Some cool air from the ventilation system came through her slacks and sweater, and gently teased her skin.

She choked on a breath as her body finally gave her permission to move. Vanna quickly sat up, forcing back a cough as she noticed black slacks and sneakers before her, the ends of a purple sweater. Cool wood supported her body, the beaten down grains rough under her hands from years of use. Only when she massaged her neck and felt nothing over her face did she feel any sort of relief.

Nothing hurt except her head from when she passed out, and even that pain was dull. Vanna wiped her face on her sleeve, then buried her face in her hands just to feel her own smooth flesh.

Bonnie hadn't stuffed her. In fact, he hadn't hurt her at all.

Vanna kicked her legs over the table to hoist herself down. Her hand smacked resin beside her, followed by a hollow clatter. It took a moment to realize she knocked Dulcie to the ground. She pushed herself on the floor, only now noticing the table had been dragged back into place, with the legs precisely where they had been before. Vanna crouched down to pick up Dulcie, before she once more examined herself, trying to determine if this was a dream or not.

Her clothes felt cool, and Dulcie's resin was hard in her hands. Vanna found her flashlight and looked over into the dark corner where she saw the Puppet's box before. Her heart jolted a bit when she saw the endoskeleton staring up at her. Its big brown eyes watched her with a strange, familiar gleam, its metal body shining in the light. Vanna quickly turned away and made her way back into the dining room.

Everything looked normal again, with long, rectangle tables instead of smaller family ones. Any posters in sight showed Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica, the silver stars hung from the ceiling, and the Puppet's box sat in its proper place beside the prize counter.

Not in the back room where she had been oblivious to its existence.

Not in a ghostly vision where she walked in her little sister's footsteps and re-lived her last moments alive.

A muffled voice entered the dining room, the words indecipherable, but fearful.

Right.

Mike.

He had been investigating that strange crashing noise, and now it sounded like he was in trouble.

Vanna ran by the stage, stopping only when she reached the small steps leading up to it. A trickle of fear ran down her spine as she turned to see Freddy still onstage, and now staring down at her. She started to smell vanilla and strawberries.

That alone gave her the incentive to keep moving.

* * *

_Can't get out...c-can't move. I don't-I don't want to die! I-I'm already-_

Someone called his name, a familiar voice echoing from the bathroom tile. He glanced up and pulled his hands down, allowing the internal camera to take in the approaching figure.

It registered the uniform first, the purple shirt and shining gold badge. The light from the flashlight beam blocked their face, granting the internal camera only a silhouette.

Freddy's face glimmered at him from the newcomer's chest, mocking him.

"Jeremy," the guard said. "It's me."

The golden bear on the badge brought to mind the golden suit. And with the thought of that suit came the memory of a cruel smile, of pain that followed not long after. He never noticed the voice recognition software pulled up a file, not that it would have mattered.

Not when all he could think about was the smile, and how he should have gotten the memo.

Jeremy simply froze, finding himself just as unable to move now as he did six years ago, trapped in that last moment of peril as the smiling man's voice taunted him.

_...You!_ he thought, fearfully.

Panic surged through him then, and with it, the ability to move. His attempts to put distance between himself and the night guard sent the old animatronic body careening back into the open stall. The camera blurred as he fell back and smacked the head against the tile, the footage going into white noise for a second before taking in the old ceiling. Footsteps echoed in his microphones, coming closer. Jeremy pushed himself up, trying to gain control of this new body. He fumbled a moment, but soon realized the animatronic parts moved at his command, albeit shaken and unsteady.

He heard the footsteps coming closer.

"Jeremy-"

_D-don't-!_ he begged. _St-stay away from me!_

The guard froze before him, the bright flashlight beam still hiding his face. With some difficulty, Jeremy rose from the floor, using the stall's walls to get himself back onto his metal feet. In this bigger body, the bathroom stall felt smaller, tighter.

And made it more difficult to move.

He panicked again, the metal endoskeleton bashing dents into the stalls and creating so much noise that the microphones crackled, blocking out any other sounds. The guard started to turn away, to run.

And in that moment, Jeremy felt something snap. The suit moved as though under remembered grace, a mechanical instinct that he momentarily became one with. From somewhere deep inside the animatronic, the old voice box crackled to life, before a long, furious scream erupted from the old mechanical body.

"RRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

He stumbled out of the stall, his metal feet digging into the tile as he slid forward, narrowing his sights on the retreating night guard.

It only took another step to right himself and regain some semblance of balance.

It took one more to catch up to his prey before he could get to the door, to slam his new robotic arms on either side of the night guard and keep him in place. Startled, the night guard dropped the flashlight. It clacked to the floor, the bright beam flickering a bit as it settled down.

This murderer got away before.

He wouldn't escape justice again.

The night guard had turned mid-run to face him, but now held his arms over his head to protect it from the animatronic's wrath.

"J-Jeremy!" he begged. "It's me! _Mike_!"

Upon hearing that name, the animatronic body stalled. Jeremy glanced down at the guard he had trapped against the wall. The bright flashlight no longer blocked his face. The light from the floor illuminated the wall with its cracked plaster, the night guard trapped between his metal arms. Realizing that no harm had come to him yet, the night guard barely dared to lower his hands, giving Jeremy a proper glance at his face.

Mike looked back at him, pale as a ghost and with terrified eyes that almost glowed from under the brim of his hat. Jeremy started to say something when a loud _THWACK!_ echoed in the bathroom, followed shortly by the internal camera flickering and sputtering from something flying into it.

A hollow object rolled by, then gently came to a stop. As the video feed settled down again, Jeremy turned toward the sound to see pink frosting and one blue eye staring up at him.

"Leave him alone!"

He turned to the door to see who had thrown it, but he knew from the voice clip that came up before he saw her.

The young woman from earlier stood with her flashlight raised above her head, ready to either throw it or hit him with it. Her golden skin turned pale red from anger and dripped with sweat. Black streaks crawled down her face. The smeared mascara around her eyes became the warpaint of an Amazon. Her nostrils flared above her gritted teeth, an angry hiss sliding through them with each furious breath.

Jeremy froze, taking her in as he gradually comprehended the situation. He slowly turned back to Mike, who remained pressed against the wall, the only way he could put any further distance between himself and the animatronic. Jeremy tried to blink, the old eyelids stalling as they always did. As he started to pull away, the cameras suddenly went to white noise with a loud _CLONK!_ as something smacked into his head again.

He stumbled away from Mike, his large metal body falling flat on his rump. The video feed sputtered again as the young woman grabbed the night guard's arm to lead him out.

* * *

Vanna watched as Spring Bonnie collapsed, before her fingers tightly gripped Mike's arm.

"Hurry!" she said, pulling him towards the door. "Before it recovers!"

Mike stalled for a second, still in shock from the robotic rabbit being right up in his face, then suddenly knocked away from him. When he registered Vanna's grip, he pulled away.

"Vanna, wait! He wasn't going to hurt me!"

The cameras blacked out for a second, flickered a bit of code, then returned to normal. Spring Bonnie stayed down as the two humans argued.

"Mike, are you _fucking crazy?_" Vanna screamed. "He had you cornered! He could have-!"

"It's not his fault!" Mike shouted back, quickly positioning himself between Vanna and the animatronic. "He thought I was-!"

Spring Bonnie had since crawled to the nearest corner, but turned in time to see Mike looking at him, the guard's expression suddenly somber and hesitant. Mike took a moment to gather his bearings, before he turned back to Vanna, his voice dropping as he finished his sentence.

"...Someone else."

Vanna kept the flashlight raised with her eyes still honed in on Spring Bonnie. The large golden rabbit trembling in fear from two humans half its size might have been almost comical if they both hadn't been on edge all night. Spring Bonnie held his hands over his face, and kept his large metal body as curled in as he possibly could. Slowly, Vanna's breathing steadied. Her features softened as she lowered her flashlight, trusting that at least for the moment, the animatronic wouldn't attack.

As she lowered her hand, Mike disappeared as the bathroom became shadows. In the midst of them, Spring Bonnie sat before her, no longer trembling. It slumped forward with the hands dangling at its sides, the creature as still as a photograph. She saw the silhouette of a bow around its now-complete right ear, with long lashes poking from its eyelids.

Shiny and new, with no life in the empty shell.

The smell of frosting entered her nose, along with...something else.

Something warm and alive and metallic.

"...Bunny?" she whispered.

The animatronic suddenly vanished into the dark. Vanna blinked in surprise, and the bathroom returned to how it was before, with the one beat down stall, the cracked plaster above the sinks, the broken glass shards in their piles on the floor, and Mike once more standing in front of her. Behind him, Spring Bonnie trembled again with its hands covering its face, its right ear broken once more. Only this time, she heard a new sound among the creaking and rattling metal.

_...I'm sorry. I c-can't...I didn't a-ask for this_.

The voice was broken with bitter sobs - a young man with an accent of some kind that his fractured voice made difficult to pick out.

Vanna nearly dropped the flashlight when the new voice rang through her thoughts.

"...Vanna?" Mike asked.

Behind him, Spring Bonnie sputtered a bit, the voice she heard in her mind replaced with robotic static for a second. Vanna found herself pulled back into reality at the jarring noise, before the sobbing voice came back. She shook her head, trying to get the voice to go away, and when it didn't, she turned to Mike.

"That...that voice…"

Mike nodded.

"I know," he whispered. "I can hear it too."

Vanna found herself glancing down at Spring Bonnie again. She grabbed Mike's hand to ensure his presence if the shadows came back. Gentle, quiet sobs mingled as an undertone with the rattling metal, and occasionally, she picked out a few words of sorrow and regret.

"...Can he hear us?" she whispered.

"Yes."

Mike turned back to Spring Bonnie for a moment, his expression somber again, but pondering. He pulled his hand from Vanna's and reached up to his neck to undo his tie.

"Mike, what are you doing?"

She watched him throw the tie to the floor, his hat following it a second later.

"I'm looking more like myself," Mike said, quietly.

He grabbed for the badge and slipped it from his breast pocket. It gently clattered to the floor beside the hat. Mike then reached up to undo his collar and unbuttoned it, making his way down the purple cloth until his white undershirt was visible.

He needed to not look like that man.

To be a friend instead of a security guard.

When he felt properly dishevelled, Mike carefully stepped towards the trembling rabbit. Vanna reached to grab his arm again, but found her fingers simply brushing it instead. Mike turned to her for a second.

"Trust me," he said. "He won't hurt me."

He turned back to Spring Bonnie, taking careful steps until he stood right before him. Vanna carefully followed, her flashlight shaking a bit as she kept it on the animatronic. Mike slowly lowered himself onto one knee to better level himself with the rabbit.

"Jeremy," he whispered. "It's not your fault."

"Jeremy…?" Vanna asked.

_I-I-I almost...god, if sh-she hadn't_..._I almost h-hurt you_.

As Vanna listened, she felt her blood chill.

"Your friend, Jeremy?" she whispered. "The one who…?"

Her voice trailed off as she watched the pathetic, trembling shell before them, and listened to the soft, terrified voice that accompanied it. Thoughts of Bonnie Wickes' tragedy came to mind as Mike gave a slow nod to confirm. Vanna inched closer, then crouched down beside him. She gently placed a hand on Mike's shoulder.

"...I'm sorry," she said. "For both of you."

Mike's hand found hers. He gave it a quick squeeze of acknowledgement before he reached for the large, plush hands still covering Spring Bonnie's face. With a calming breath, he tried to urge them away. The metal endoskeleton remained locked in position.

"...Please," he whispered. "Look at me?"

It took a moment, but slowly, the metal joints creaked as the old hands lowered. The animatronic carefully glanced up at Mike, with white pinpricks of life shining behind the silver discs.

Without the glare of the flashlight, Jeremy better took Mike in. He'd changed in the last six years, with a chalky overtone to his already pale skin, dark purple bags under his haunted and weary eyes, and marks of stress starting to etch themselves into his forlorn face.

Yet he was still the same young man he knew before he disappeared. He had the same short, slicked back black hair, with parts of it now falling into his face. The same intense blue eyes, with a grim line for a mouth. The same determination to get through whatever he had to in order to survive and feel like everything in the world was right again, even if only for a moment.

Jeremy's robotic fingers shifted and coiled in uncertainty. One plush hand stalled, before the old, worn tips touched human flesh. He felt no warmth or pulsating blood, only the soft springiness of Mike's cheek faintly giving way under his metal fingers. He slowly moved to his hair, a few strands catching on the broken metal tips. Some gentle pushes at his neck, a careful run under his chin.

Mike held still as the plush fingers moved over his skin. He tried not to wince when some of the broken tips scratched and tangled. Vanna's grip tightened on his shoulder for a moment, eased only when no harm came to him.

But each gentle touch, each curious exploration of his face, quelled Jeremy's torment a little more. The old eyelids stalled in a blink, giving the crooked smile a less frightening appearance. His voice quieted to whispers, then gentle silence. The old robotic ears twitched, the whole one drooping a bit first, then slowly straightening up to its proper height.

_Mike_…

His name held a note of regained hope. Mike tried to speak, to even smile. His lips tightened as the words struggled to leave his tongue. His smile cracked before it began.

All he could do was nod.

Plush thumbs ran over his cheeks. Uneven fingertips lined against his jaw.

_I-I can't...you're _real.

Mike swallowed hard as he nodded again. His head swam as his vision blurred.

"...Jeremy," he managed. "I couldn't..."

Several thoughts crowded his mind.

An empty bedroom across from his own. A warm mug in his hands, with warmer words to accompany it. Long, lonely Novembers spent wondering what happened. A parking lot with flashing lights. His own face never looking like his own the moment he buttoned his shirt, pulled on his hat, and adjusted his badge.

Mike collapsed, with old, soft plush breaking his fall. Dust tickled his nose. He breathed in rust and rot as his arms weakly wrapped around the animatronic torso. Old servos gently hummed in his ear. His fingers dug into the old casing, giving into the need to hold on tightly and never let go.

"...Please," he whispered, "don't...don't disappear again."

Metal creaked. Servos hissed. Large, plush hands found his back, with broken fingertips catching onto his shirt.

_I didn't want to leave you behind_.

Mike's grip loosened after a moment. He pulled away from the metal hands, reaching up to wipe his eyes.

"I couldn't handle it," he confessed. "I came to find you, and you weren't-"

A choked breath cut him off. Another bitter sob tried to worm its way from his throat.

And warm arms pulled him into them, his back now resting against something soft.

Vanna held Mike to her, trying to still her own lips as her gaze met Jeremy's. Her flashlight sat beside her, the beam still shining on the golden rabbit before her. The plush hands hung awkwardly in front of Spring Bonnie's chest, his uneven fingers occasionally twitching with the urge to grip. The life lights flickered in their sockets, little flames that danced with uncertainty.

"...It seems we all found someone we lost," Vanna whispered.

_Yes_, came a new voice. _It is why the strings brought you here_.

Jeremy looked up first. Vanna let go of Mike and grabbed her flashlight, turning around to see which one of them got in. Mike followed her lead.

The Puppet hung before them, its arms bent, yet limp, on strings that no one in the room could see. The beam from Mike's fallen flashlight reflected off the mirror shards, creating strange patterns of light over the thin body.

Vanna felt her vision start to fade again. A familiar giggle entered her mind, a clack of little shoes on tile.

And then the faint whimpers of a crying child echoed off the walls.

"...Vesper…?"

_She is here_, the Puppet said, _and she has been waiting_.

The marionette suddenly collapsed to the floor, its mask landing hard against the cold tile. The crying grew louder, ricocheting from the walls to the shards on the floor. The glass pieces winked with pale blue light, creating a small, gray form.

Mike's breath hitched, having seen it the night before.

Only this time, it reached towards the group, forming a small hand, winks of a blue skirt, and brief flutters of long black pigtails.

Vanna's heartbeat stilled as her blood slowed its pace. Empty sockets with only white pinpricks to fill them brimmed with tears, and black Mary Janes took a single step forward.

_Vanna_, it said, _take me home_.

As soon as the last word left its lips, the ghostly little figure was gone.


	30. Memory for a Murderer

_Facial recognition engaged._

_Auto update date and time: 11/13/1993 1:54:24am_

_Uploading known database._

_Searching…_

_1 file found._

_**06/09/1971 11:28:49am**_

_Open-_

* * *

She blinked, and for a moment, she took in the room around her. Sinks filled with broken glass. More of it winking at her from the floor. Up ahead, the other occupants blurred into one continuous shape. She picked out ears and white eyes, purple blotches that barely stood out from the shadows, pale faces staring back at her.

Then, a tall figure reached for her, with a hand with the same olive-gold tone as hers shifting in and out of view.

"Vesper," it whispered, its voice soft and feminine, "I promise, we will get you home."

Their fingers barely touched. For a brief moment, a forgotten warmth grazed against her small fingertips.

The glimmers of light faded from the winks of glass. The blurs of the figures before her disappeared into the shadows, though the rabbit's eyes no longer shone.

And in that moment, the darkness pulled her back in.

* * *

_**ERROR:**_ _Improper shutdown detected._

_Activating recovery process._

_Auto update date and time: 11/13/1993 1:57:56am_

_Recovering.._.

* * *

For a long while, no one moved. Neither human dared to even _breathe_. Mike's flashlight still rested on the floor, shining on the Puppet's still body. Some of its light still bounced off the piles of glass. Even the old creaks and groans from Spring Bonnie's metal body had stopped.

Slowly, Vanna lowered her hand from where Vesper stood before, then shifted her flashlight to the thin black body in front of them.

"...Vesper?"

No answer.

Vanna took in a slow, hesitant breath, then crept towards the fallen Puppet. Pieces of glass winked around her, settling only when she crouched down by the marionette. Her fingers gently caressed the smooth head, a black sphere under the mask.

The marionette still didn't move. As if in a trance, Vanna set her flashlight down beside her and pushed the Puppet onto its back, looking over its face, its buttons, its striped limbs and long fingers for any trace of life.

Mike carefully pushed himself up, taking small, quiet steps to follow Vanna. He retrieved his flashlight as he made his way over, hanging back with uncertainty. Vanna's fingers traced the edge of the Puppet's mask, circling its red cheek.

"Vesper?"

Again, it didn't answer her.

Vanna slipped her fingers under the Puppet's head, gently lifting it up. She took one of its long-fingered hands into her own.

"Vesper, _please_," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Answer me."

The eyes remained blank and empty, the body a lifeless shell. Mike started to put a hand on her shoulder, when he noticed how quiet the room still was. He shone his flashlight over to Spring Bonnie, who sat just as lifelessly, slumped back against the wall. Even the white pinpricks no longer shone.

"Jeremy?"

He listened for that familiar echo of a voice in his mind, and for once felt unnerved that he heard nothing.

Mike ran over to the suit and knelt down beside it, picking up one of its hands and lifting it, before he moved to tilt the mask into an upright position.

The mask's sockets were empty.

"Jeremy!"

No answer.

* * *

_Recovery complete._

_Opening files…  
_

* * *

Finally, after another long moment, he heard something: a sputter at first, then a long robotic whine, not unlike a TV set before the audio caught up to the picture. The whine sputtered, then segwayed into a continuous deep, jarring note. Mike reached up to cover his ears, but the sound came from no external source.

Like the voices he heard before, it rang in his mind. A soft gasp behind him told him Vanna heard it too. Both of them shuddered, and tried to get it to stop.

The noise continually droned on.

* * *

_The file segments came in brief spouts, with only a few seconds of fleeting footage. All of them contained_ _indecipherable words and clips of speech, none of which could be heard clearly_.

_His feet were in front of him, twitching over the red oil and black and white tiles, staining the yellow feet as a pair of legs in dark pants cautiously avoided the growing pool_.

_The stage stretched before him, with an empty dining room save for a tall woman in a red polo, with a shiny red headband keeping her straight black hair out of her face as she argued with a slightly taller man, his face hidden under his baseball cap._  
_  
A frightened little girl with green eyes and dark pigtails backed away from him, soon followed by the haunting sound of her screams. Something pink covered her dress_.

_Mike leading Jamie towards the alcove to keep him away from Brian_.

_The tall woman looked down at him from above, marked only by her silhouette and hints of her red polo caused from the light behind her. She held up a screwdriver_ _as she prepared to make an adjustment_.

_A dark room with a child crying out of sight, the horrible sounds slowly fading away._  
_  
The click of a wrench and a man muttering something under his breath_.

_A child's body on the floor, with a panicked voice nearby_.

_The back room where he sat in the dark, facing the work table that sported an unfinished animatronic. A tall figure entered the room and approached him_.

_An old man dragging away something large and heavy, tightly wrapped in tarp._

_The Puppet staring at him with glowing eyes, right before a forced restart cut off the clip_.

* * *

After a long while, the noise stopped just as suddenly as it started. Mike still felt his head spin, but when he gave it a gentle shake to clear the residual racket from his mind, he noticed the bathroom was quiet again. He glanced over to Vanna, who came out of a similar stupor, before the gentle hum of servos powering back on got both of their attention.

The two humans sat motionless as Spring Bonnie gently moved his head. From behind the silver discs, the little pinpricks of life flickered back on.

Slowly, one golden hand reached towards them. A broken voice called out, its robotic stuttering making it difficult to recognize.

_M...st-st_…

Mike edged away from the animatronic.

"...Jeremy?"

_I-I-I...m...st-st...still_…

The old voice box crackled from inside the animatronic. Occasionally, part of a word came from it, instead of inside their minds.

"..Mm...h-h…st-sti...here..."

Vanna abandoned the Puppet for a moment to pull herself a little closer to Mike. She once more readied herself to grab his arm and lead him away from here.

The crackling stopped as Spring Bonnie suddenly slumped forward, a powering down sound hanging in the air. A moment later, the old robot creaked as it moved. One large, plush hand found the mask's forehead, the uneven fingers stroking it in confusion. The old eyelids stalled again, the pinpricks struggling to retain their flame.

_Mike_…

Jeremy tilted the mask up to better face his companions. His ghostly pupils stabilized, then flickered in a blink. Mike stayed back, but pushed himself up onto his toes to make it easier to face the animatronic. Vanna stayed just behind him, on one knee so she was better prepared to stand and run.

"What happened?" she whispered.

The yellow face twitched a bit, the one good ear shifting nervously. Spring Bonnie's face shifted into a more neutral expression, and a low _creak_ echoed in the bathroom as it shook its head.

_I don't...know_, Jeremy's voice whispered. _When that...that little girl appeared,_ _I...I-I'm not sure _what _happened, ex...exactly. But I went away for a moment_.

"I think you shut down," Mike said, softly.

God, that felt so weird to say.

_No_, Jeremy said. _It wasn't...I saw code, Mike. Code, and...flickers of video_.

He ran his plush hand over his forehead.

_I couldn't make much sense of any of it, but it was like...like a dream. A dream where you see pieces of different memories_.

Mike turned back to Vanna. She blinked at him, trying to keep her expression blank. Small twitches at her eyes and lips gave her away.

"What sort of things did you see?" she asked.

_Um…_

Jeremy tilted his head in thought.

_I kept seeing this strange woman. The little girl...and I think this suit being worked on. They all happened so fast, I barely caught any of it_.

Vanna nodded.

"Maybe it remembers something."

Mike looked between her and Spring Bonnie.

"What, the suit?"

"Remember what the old man said?" Vanna asked. "It turns up whenever some sort of tragedy happens."

_She could be right_.

Both Mike and Vanna turned to Jeremy.

_...I was able to see some complete files earlier,_ he said, quietly. _I saw an old man_...

Jeremy hesitated for a moment, having to compose himself. One plush hand moved to clutch the other arm as he spoke again.

..._He...f-found my...my body. Then I saw this suit being moved from the place I worked to here, and a few...fragments of other things_.

Vanna perked a little, honing in on what he just said.

"What did the old man look like?" she asked.

_Um_…

Spring Bonnie's eyelids stalled in an attempt to close them, and for a moment, Jeremy's pupils faded away as he tried to picture him clearly.

_It was dark...hard to tell. He was tall, and had a salt and pepper beard...brown eyes_..._dark skin. I couldn't tell if it was a shadow or not_.

The ghostly pinpricks came back.

_I remember his voice more clearly. He spoke with some kind of accent. Deep, maybe Southern, but I'm not sure. If you give me a moment, I can try to find the video again_.

Mike and Vanna looked at each other, knowing there was no need.

"The janitor," they whispered together.

_What?_ Jeremy asked.

"Jeremy," Mike said, hesitantly.

Was that man on their side?

"Did that man...did he…?"

He made a gesture to the Spring Bonnie suit, not wanting to say it aloud. It took Jeremy a moment to piece together what he meant. When he did, Spring Bonnie's good ear straightened, before the mask shook its head.

_No,_ Jeremy answered. _He found me, and he said_...

His plush hand nervously rubbed his arm.

_...He said he'd try to find who _did.

Mike visibly looked relieved.

"Then he's not the Smiling Man."

"Which means…" Vanna started.

She turned back to Jeremy.

"...Did you see him?" she whispered. "The one who killed you?"

The entire suit jolted at her bluntness. Jeremy went quiet in hesitation. He didn't want to think of that man, or of what happened. Already, his mind brought forth flashes of pain and gold, of a purple uniform and a mocking laugh. Both arms crossed over his chest as he trembled and looked away.

_I don't…_

"Jeremy," Mike said, softly. "Please. You might…"

He glanced towards the exit, where the others were likely lurking and waiting for them.

"...You might be the only one who can help," he whispered.

He looked back to Jeremy.

"He did something to their programming," Mike explained. "They don't know his face. All they know is he wore a security uniform, and the _only_ reason they haven't chased me off or worse is because I can hear them and talk to them."

Spring Bonnie curled in tighter. The rattling metal grew louder as he shook his head, his hands reaching up to grip the bases of his ears.

_I-I don't want to think about it_, he whispered. _I can hear him m-mocking me, I f-feel_…

Jeremy cut off for a moment as he buried his face in his hands again. Mike felt his heart sink, but moved closer to him, setting a hand on the rabbit's shoulder.

"We can't help you, or them, if we don't have something to go on."

Vanna inched closer as well, until she was on his other side.

"Jeremy," she whispered, "I know it's...probably still fresh. It's literally the last thing you remember. But that's _exactly_ why it's important to think about it now, before you can forget."

For a long while, only the metallic tremors and soft creaks of rusted joints echoed around the bathroom. Mike shifted so he was more comfortably sitting beside the Spring Bonnie suit. Vanna did the same on the other side, both of them giving Jeremy time to better process his thoughts. Slowly, the suit stilled until it became completely silent.

_...I mostly saw his smile,_ Jeremy whispered at last, lowering his hands, _and his skin. No joke, it was about the same peach color as Ma's roses_.

"That doesn't narrow it down much," Mike muttered.

Vanna shot him a quick glare before turning back to Jeremy.

"Did he have a scar?" she asked. "Freckles...stubble?"

Jeremy went quiet for a moment.

He pictured it clearly, that view through the mask: the purple shirt, the badge, the grin...his murderer's careful stance to ensure his victim never got a full look at his face. Jeremy winced a few times, the pain still as fresh in his mind as if it happened only a few hours ago. But the longer he focused on the face…

_...His chin shone,_ he whispered, _a sort of jagged shine...maybe stubble. And there were strands of hair by his jaw. Fair...a light brown, or possibly blond. There wasn't much light to see it with_.

He glanced up at his companions.

_That's really all I _can _remember about his face,_ Jeremy said, _other than his wide smile. He made sure I couldn't see much_.

Mike nodded.

"Is there anything else you can tell us?" he asked. "Was he tall, or…?"

_He was tall_, Jeremy confirmed with a shudder, _and strong. He had to be, to wear that suit and fight me in it_.

"What suit?" Vanna asked.

_Freddy,_ Jeremy answered. _A yellow Freddy_.

"There isn't a yellow Freddy," Mike said.

"Yes, there is," Vanna retorted. "Fredbear."

She gestured to the Spring Bonnie suit.

"If they kept Bonnie, then they probably kept Fredbear too. The question is where _that_ suit went."

_It doesn't matter,_ Jeremy said. _Whatever he did with it, that suit is probably long gone_.

"He's right," Mike said, quietly. "Even if it was sitting in the back room right now, there's not really anything we could do with it."

He looked over his shoulder to the glass pile, where the Puppet still lied motionless.

Strange, he figured it would have powered back on by now.

Mike shot a glance to the partition leading out of the bathroom.

"...Maybe we should check on the others," he said.

"If they don't kill us first," Vanna muttered.

"We've both been wandering the building, and none of them touched us," Mike pointed out, "and in the time we've been in here, _any_ of them could have slipped in."

He aimed his flashlight back at the exit.

"If they were going to hurt us, they would have already."

Vanna conceded with a nod, before she pushed herself back onto her feet.

"Fine," she said. "I'll get Puppet."

She walked over to the fallen marionette and bent down just long enough to scoop it into her arms. She noticed soft vibrations as she lifted its body, and faintly heard a soft hum.

Maybe it was in still in the process of powering back on.

Vanna carefully propped the Puppet's head over her shoulder, cradling its chest as she held up a hand. She hooked her elbow under Puppet's legs, turning off her flashlight for the time being. Behind her, Mike stood as well. He carefully draped the Puppet's arms in its lap so they wouldn't tangle in Vanna's legs as she walked.

He then turned back Jeremy.

"Are you coming?" he asked.

The rabbit nodded.

_Just...give me a moment_, he said.

He shot a quick glance at the glass on the floor.

_I don't know how much control I have over this thing_.

Mike nodded and stayed back. He watched the metal hands move to the floor, pressing against it. The metal joints groaned as the weight shifted and the knees bent, granting him a little leverage. Spring Bonnie's hands crawled behind him, now pressing against the wall as he slid his back up against it. The internal gyro recalibrated as Jeremy got the suit to stand upright again. He remained against the wall for a moment before he dared to take a step.

"You got it?" Vanna asked, watching him carefully.

_I think so,_ Jeremy answered. _I was walking fine before. Just...all of this, remembering all of this - it shook me_.

He took another small step forward, and then another with a bit more confidence. Mike readied himself in case the animatronic toppled over, but Jeremy's walk steadied as he better slipped into remembered balance and movement. Even the joints seemed to creak less as they moved.

Nearby, Dulcie still peered up from the floor with one large, blue eye. Mike quickly scooped up the resin cupcake, though he winced a bit at the glass scattered around the sinks and floor. Already, he heard Waylon screaming in his ears.

"...I am _not_ cleaning this up," he muttered.

The sound of rusty hinges got his attention as he turned back to Jeremy. The hands curled into the yellow chest, the broken fingers wringing over each other in a hesitant pattern. One metal foot guiltily toed at the floor.

..._I'm sorry,_ Jeremy whispered. _I didn't mean-_

"Don't worry about it," Mike said. He bent down to retrieve his uniform pieces, then forced up a smile. "I'll figure something out."

Vanna nodded in agreement.

"We'll worry about it later," she said.

Mike brandished his flashlight, holding Dulcie and his personal items under one arm. With a quick, cleansing breath, he led the three of them out of the bathroom. He stole a quick glance to his watch.

It was just after 3:30am.


	31. Enemy Among Us

_**ERROR:**_ _Improper shutdown detected._

_Activating recovery process._

_Auto update date and time: 11/13/1993 1:59:43am_

_Recovering.._.

_Recovery complete._

_Restoration in process._

_Restoring: watch_learn._

_Restoring: give_gift_.

_Restoring: personality_test_.

_Restoring: audience_engagement._

_Restoring: sound_location_.

_Restoring: facial_recognition_.

_Restoring: artificial_intelligence_.

_Restoring: bwickes_personal_.

_**ERROR:**_ _Cannot activate bwickes_personal._

_Access code required._

_**Input operator ID:**_

_**Input access code:**_

_**ERROR:**_ _Unable to input access code._

_Engaging AI override._

_**Input operator ID:**_ _fwickes1966__**  
Input access code:**_ _OURDREAM_NEVERDIED1967_

_Override in process_…

* * *

Upon entering the dining room, Mike took a look around. Tables, stars, stages. The prize counter with the present box beside it, currently missing its occupant. Freddy never moved from his spot on the stage, the bear still staring ahead at the empty tables before him. The closed curtains at Pirate Cove showed Foxy stayed put as well. Neither Bonnie nor Chica were in immediate sight at first, but Mike picked out a yellow figure near the west hall, just beyond the present box.

Right where he left her before.

Vanna followed in behind him, still carrying Puppet. Spring Bonnie lingered behind them a bit, trying to step lightly on his large metal feet with varying levels of success.

Mike stepped forward, going to the closest table. He emptied his hands of everything but his flashlight, then set about to clear the party hats. He put them in a neat stack as Vanna set the Puppet in the cleared space, with the same craft and care as a mother putting down her sleeping child. Once she freed her hands, she clicked her flashlight back on, checking the room first before they did anything further.

"...Hello?" Vanna called, running her flashlight over the room. "Are you guys here?"

Metal footsteps echoed on the tile behind them. Trained from his encounters with Foxy, Mike instinctively turned around to see Spring Bonnie caught up to them. At its full height, the robot towered over him by about a head.

Not unlike how Jeremy did in life, or Vanna almost did now.

The thought simultaneously comforted him and freaked him out. Mike tried to push back the thought of if _he_ were the one wearing it, his eyes and skull would likely be crushed by the animatronic's chest pieces, if he could even stand in it at all on his shorter legs.

The disturbing thought that Vanna might fit inside of it wasn't lost on him.

At that moment, a dull hum echoed through the building as the remaining power finally gave out. Down the hall, he heard the right door finally slide open.

Mike turned back around in time to see four sets of eyes staring at them from the shadows. Purple from the far left. Yellow from behind the Pirate Cove curtains. Red at the far end of the room, near the backstage door. Blue from the main stage.

Vanna's flashlight beam lit each of them in order: Chica, Foxy, Bonnie, Freddy.

And as if on cue, Freddy finally moved.

The bear stepped toward the front of the stage, utilizing the three steps in front with calculated practice. Vanna edged closer to Mike, and her hand brushed against his arm as a small confirmation that he was there. She moved her flashlight to the places around the room where the others lingered. Mike took her hint and kept his own beam on Freddy.

From other parts of the room, more footsteps joined Freddy's. The curtains at Pirate Cove opened, followed by familiar clanking footsteps. A yellow figure approached from around the Puppet's box, a bright pink cupcake in her hand. And a long-eared brute came up from the other side of the room.

Freddy stopped on the other side of the table, leaving room for Bonnie to join him at his left. Chica came next, at his right, with Foxy trailing in last behind her. All four of them stood in a line on the other side of the table, with their glowing eyes all centered on Mike, Vanna, and Spring Bonnie.

Both of the humans froze, save for Vanna running her flashlight over the lot of them, keeping them in her sight. Behind them, Spring Bonnie took two fearful, clanking steps back. Mike swallowed hard as all four of their gazes dropped down to Puppet's still form, then back to him.

_What has happened to Puppet?_ came a deep baritone.

Vanna jerked a little, but readied herself to hear more voices. She noticed Freddy's jaw silently moving as he spoke.

"That's what we're trying to find out," Mike said, settling back into his relative nighttime normality.

"Vesper appeared," Vanna said, having finally found her voice again, "and it...shut down."

She glanced behind her, where Jeremy awkwardly hung back from them.

"So did Spring Bonnie."

For a moment, only the sound of five servos humming lingered in the air. All four of the main animatronics looked at each other, their eyes flickering in silent communication, before they looked back at the two humans. Finally, Freddy spoke again.

..._It has only shut down like this once,_ he said, _six years ago_.

Mike frowned.

"On Friday the 13th, in November of 1987?" he asked.

There was no way he would _ever_ forget the date.

Freddy gave him a soft nod.

_Yes,_ he said. _Spring Bonnie did as well_.

Vanna shot a glance behind her to Spring Bonnie, to see the rabbit now looked at the floor, not wanting to face its animatronic brethren. She then turned back to the others.

"...What happened that night?" she asked. "How did the Smiling Man-"

She stopped herself, cleared her throat, and quickly rephrased.

"How did this happen?"

The animatronics looked at each other, their eyes flickering again. Once more, Freddy spoke up first.

_The Smiling Man was there_, he said. _Puppet knew, but none of us could see him. He disguised himself as one of us_.

"And you couldn't tell?" Vanna asked.

_You must understand_, Bonnie said, his soft tenor picking up where Freddy left off. _Our programming is..._limited_. We can see the shape of a mask, but not the endoskeleton behind it. Even an empty mask will bring up a profile_.

Jeremy vaguely recalled the masks in the back room when he woke up, and how they registered as the characters they represented. He perked up a little, looking over the other animatronics as he wrung his hands again.

..._He's right_, he confirmed, though his voice dropped. _When I woke up last night, one of the first things I saw was the masks. No matter how many there were, they all registered as Bonnie, Freddy, or Chica_.

He turned Spring Bonnie's head to face the pirate fox.

_It's probably the same for them...except Foxy_.

Jeremy shuddered, remembering how he had to keep the old pirate back with a flashlight.

..._He always saw right through it_.

Foxy tilted his head, his broken jaw swinging back and forth as he spoke.

_I wasn't lookin' at th' mask, lad,_ he answered. _Me program's always been glitched. Masks an' faces both look like big ol' blobs o'nothin' to me, so I look fer costumes an' uniforms_.

"...Which the Smiling Man wore too," Mike said, picking up on it.

_Right_, Foxy said, looking back to Spring Bonnie.

His gaze softened a bit, and his ears lowered a little.

_Sorry 'bout that. Ol' Foxy probably gave ye more'n yer fair share of fright, but it couldn' be helped._ _No hard feelins', lad?_

Spring Bonnie's mask creaked as Jeremy shook his head, though his wariness seeped through every part of the robot's current posture, his hands freezing with tension.

_N-no_.

_Good_, Foxy said, his ears resetting to their default position again. _Wasn't the firs' time I mistook someone else for that lubber, and it wasn't the last_. _Tryin' t' remedy that_.

Chica spoke up next before Foxy could ramble any further.

_Puppet told us to look for the Smiling Man,_ she said, _and to protect the human in the security room_.

Spring Bonnie perked and looked at her.

That's _why you kept coming in?_ Jeremy exclaimed.

_Yes,_ Chica said. _We knew the Smiling Man was hiding among us, and that he might hurt the human. But we never _saw _a human_.

"Only another animatronic," Vanna whispered.

She glanced over the four of them, who each nodded in turn.

"You had to be sure."

Mike turned to Freddy.

"But if there were _two_ Freddies," he said, "weren't you able to tell which was which?"

Before the other animatronics could answer, Jeremy piped in again.

_The mask I used...i-it was an empty Freddy head. To them, there may as well have been _four _Freddies_.

"Four…?" Vanna started.

_This Freddy,_ Jeremy said, pointing a broken index finger at him, _the Smiling Man, me, and the Toy model._

Mike frowned and crossed his arms.

"Whoever designed that program needs to be fired," he muttered.

Vanna frowned as well.

"They probably already were," she said, before she glanced down at the table.

The Puppet still hadn't moved. Vanna looked it over, before she glanced back up at the animatronics.

"You said Puppet knew about Jeremy," she said, quietly. "Why didn't it help?"

_It tried to,_ Bonnie said, _but it was trapped_.

"Trapped?"

_In its box_, the rabbit explained, looking over at it on the other side of the room and pointing to the box with the tip of one ear. _It's programmed to stay inside if it hears certain music_.

"Why would it-?" Mike started.

"It's a jack-in-the-box," Vanna answered, cutting him off. "The music stopping is its cue to come out."

A sharp gasp echoed throughout their minds, followed by metallic shifts and tremors.

_...No...oh, g-god, no_…

All eyes turned to Spring Bonnie.

_The...the man on the-the phone,_ Jeremy said. His Irish accent became more pronounced with each panicked word. _H-h-h-he told me...I-I-I thought I was...I-I was actually_…

His plush hands reached up to cover his mouth. The large rabbit's knees threatened to cave. Mike and Vanna quickly moved on either side of him to keep Spring Bonnie standing.

"Jeremy," Mike said softly, "calm down."

_Mike, I-I-I_..._  
_  
Spring Bonnie's knees gave out, and his large body collapsed to the ground, taking the two humans with it. Jeremy's hands shot in front of him, catching the animatronic body on all fours.  
_  
...I s-signed my own…_

He choked back a sob.

..._M-my own d-death warrant!  
_  
Mike and Vanna crumpled to the floor on either side of him. Vanna groaned a bit as she pushed herself back up, then crawled over to the trembling rabbit. She turned the old mask towards her, and matched her gaze with the white pinpricks.

"You thought you were protecting yourself," Vanna said. "Please, don't blame yourself for this."

Two sets of padded footsteps circled the table and approached them. Mike and Vanna both looked up to see Bonnie and Freddy standing before them, Bonnie bending down with his hands in front of him, as if determining if assistance was needed, and Freddy standing stalwart, still gripping his microphone. Vanna blinked and saw gold on both of them.

_He had every right to be afraid,_ came Freddy's deep baritone.

They became normal again. Vanna just nodded as Mike looked up at him from the floor.

"What do you mean?" he asked as he pushed himself onto his knees.

Freddy's gaze softened as he glanced to Jeremy.

_For all he knew, we were hostile_.

His voice took on a grimmer tone.

_And we might have been. We were all saved that week_.

"...'Saved'?" Vanna asked.

"...The children," Mike whispered.

All four of the Fazbear band nodded in confirmation. Chica gently petted at Dulcie's frosting, as if she held a kitten instead.

_They were hurt and angry_, she said. _They were _scared_, and trying to find the man who did this_. _We didn't understand our roles as their vessels then...and we didn't know how to talk to humans_.

Her finger poked at the tip of Dulcie's candle.

_Sometimes, their fear made us do things we couldn't always control, so long as it didn't conflict with our programming. Even in the day, when we had to be still, our Toy counterparts began to act strange. They had to sing and play, but they could still stare at adults, and try to keep the children away from them_.

Her eyelids drooped a bit.

_The best we _could _do was try to find the night guard and keep him safe, and _keep _trying until we did_.

Jeremy stilled again, still facing the tile.

_...But Puppet..._did _come for me,_ he whispered, _a-after the power went out_. _I couldn't...I c-couldn't wind the box anymore_.

He settled down on his knees, preferring that to trying to re-balance the gyro and stand again. Bonnie straightened his stance and took a step back upon registering the other rabbit had himself under control. Jeremy kept his hands pressed against the floor, trying to control the shudders that went through his metallic body.

_I heard its chimes,_ he said, _and I saw it attack the yellow Freddy right before I passed out_.

_We all heard Puppet,_ Bonnie said, _and then the noise in the security room. By the time I got there, I only saw Freddy leaving with the night guard. He was trying to help him walk_.

_I saw him too,_ Chica confirmed. _The human looked unwell. I thought Freddy was getting him to safety_.

_Didn' see nothin' meself,_ Foxy grumbled, his broken jaw swinging with each word. _That lubber smashed me control switch. Couldn't power back on for days. Me programmin's always been glitched, but it hasn't been th' same since_.

He reached up with his hook to pull down a bit of his old costume, revealing the switch in question. It looked like it had been bent out of place, then attacked with pliers to bend it somewhat back into its original position.

Mike and Vanna both looked at each other, before turning to Jeremy. Jeremy simply remained kneeling, his fingers practically clawing at the floor. Mike stood up again as he turned back to Chica.

"Where was Puppet?" he asked.

_We found Puppet trapped under a stack of monitors,_ Chica answered. _We were being refurbished, so I didn't have hands at the time, and Bonnie only had one arm. We had to wait for one of the others to come by and help us lift them so we didn't crush Puppet by mistake_.

_Toy Freddy came,_ Bonnie added. _He was able to lift them off the stack until we found Puppet underneath. Puppet had been shut down manually, but was restarting. As soon as it was free, it headed straight for the Parts and Service room_.

Mike turned to Freddy.

"And where were you?" he asked.

_I was checking the main room,_ Freddy said. _By the time I got back to the hall, the door to the Parts and Service room was shut_.

Mike's body trembled a little as his blood began to boil. He narrowed his eyes at Freddy, then shot a cold glare to each of the Fazbear band in turn.

"And _none_ of you followed?"

All four of them shook their heads.

_The door_ _was closed,_ Freddy said. _When that door was shut, it meant we were not allowed back there without an employee escort. Our programming would not allow it_.

He used his microphone to point to the backstage door, which hung open behind them.

_Even now, that rule still applies to us_.

_Th' only way it'll override,_ Foxy added, _is if we see a non-authorized person walkin' in without an escort_.

Mike perked a little, hurt mingling in with his building anger.

_Dad..._ he thought.

_It was for the safety of the children,_ Chica explained. _Before, the Smiling Man lured children into the back room, dressed as one of us. If an animatronic is back there with the door shut, and without an employee, it's cause for alarm_.

"...Which is why he made it look like he was walking with Jeremy," Vanna whispered, turning back to Spring Bonnie. "It'd look like an employee escorting an animatronic."

The yellow rabbit remained still, his gaze still on the floor.

_Correct,_ Freddy said, softly.

Mike's blood boiled over. He furiously kicked one of the chairs, making it loudly topple onto the tile floor.

"Motherfucker!" he screamed, kicking it again. "This fucker thought of _everything!_"

_It appears so,_ Freddy said, calmly watching Mike's small fit.

Spring Bonnie finally looked up, his focus now on the night guard.

_Mike,_ Jeremy said, gentle but stern. _Stop_.

Mike kicked the chair a final time, but at Jeremy's request, he stopped. He then picked it up and stood it upright, feeling a little better as he shoved it back against the table. When he finished, Bonnie came up behind him and adjusted the chair to his liking.

_Puppet tried to get in,_ he said as he got the chair back into place. _It had to crawl up into the ceiling tiles because the room was locked_. _By then...it was too late_.

_I came back in time to see the door was open again,_ Freddy explained. _I went inside, and that's when I saw Puppet shut down_.

"Have you ever figured out why?" Vanna asked.

_No. It never told us_.

_It didn't even power back up until the next day,_ Chica added. _It never told us what happened_.

Vanna slowly walked over to the table, looking down at Puppet.

"...Then Vesper…?"

_...Is bound to her vessel's limitations,_ Bonnie said, turning to her, _just like the rest of us_.

_Sorry, lass,_ Foxy said. _Ye won't be gettin' much more from 'em tonight_.

Vanna gently caressed the Puppet's face, tracing her fingers over its cheek circles, the side of its smile. Mike turned to her, letting go of his residual anger to be by her side. She felt her lips tremble, and bit it back, closing her eyes as she sucked in a breath. When she opened them again, she gave a weak nod to the Fazbear band.

"...Then I should put them to bed," she said, quietly.

Mike gave her a small nod and retrieved his flashlight from where it still sat on the floor. Vanna slipped a hand under the Puppet's neck, and as she lifted its body, she felt something odd.

"Wait…"

Vanna gently pushed the Puppet onto its stomach. As she suspected, the costume shut in the back, the seam hidden well. Mike held the flashlight over its body, allowing Vanna to pry the cloth pieces away.

A small white corner poked out from the seam. Vanna opened the back seam just enough to slip out a small piece of thick, wrinkled paper. On feeling its familiar texture, she flipped it around. Her expression softened as she showed it to Mike.

Mike took in the familiar forms and colors before he took it from her, and when he registered what he held, he turned to Spring Bonnie. Leaving his flashlight with Vanna, he walked over to the yellow animatronic, the picture in hand. He knelt down, holding it up for Jeremy to take in.

"...Can you see it?" he whispered, hardly daring to speak.

The suit's night vision took in the photograph, matching it to the file it took earlier. Better yet, Jeremy recognized it without the suit's enhancements, his ghostly eyes giving it just enough light to see it properly.

It showed the two of them with their backs against each other, Halloween 1987, both of them dressed as Jason Voorhees. They had their machetes raised and masks flipped up at Moira's insistence of getting her sons' real faces before they joined their friends at a horror movie marathon.

It was the last picture anyone had ever taken of Jeremy, let alone the two of them together.

Jeremy reached up to take it, holding it carefully in the suit's uneven fingertips. Mike let him.

"...Puppet got it from my wallet," he said, quietly. "It's…"

..._How it knew about us,_ Jeremy finished.

He looked it over again, gently running a plush finger over their faces, their old lives.

The last time the two of them were truly happy.

Spring Bonnie's good ear drooped forward. His hands trembled as he stared at the photograph, at his true face...at what he couldn't be anymore.

His hands stilled. His ghostly pupils faded away for a moment. His mind went blank.

Slowly, Jeremy lifted the mask up to face Mike again. He glanced down at the photograph one last time, gently setting a finger on Mike's face, then his own, before he held the photograph for his brother to take back. Mike hesitated, but reached for it. As soon as he gripped it, Jeremy gently let it go, his fingers slipping over the matte finish, their faces.

Mike tightly held the photo in his hand. He glanced at it once, then reached for his wallet to slip it back into place.

He hated the feeling of finality, that he was condemning it to a dark coffin.

Once the wallet was safely pocketed away again, Mike cleared his throat and turned back to Vanna.

"...We should put that thing away," he said, choosing to focus at the task on hand.

Vanna quietly nodded, then fixed the Puppet's costume. She carefully picked it up again.

Foxy and Chica already made their way to the box, each of them using their free, whole hands to each hold open a top flap.

Mike walked ahead of her. He reached into the box and shifted the marionette's cross to better allow Vanna to set it down inside. Vanna gently kissed the Puppet's forehead, before she leaned into the box, setting its legs in first, then its chest and arms. She rested the head against a corner to prop it up, then allowed Mike to put the cross back.

Foxy and Chica gently shut the top flaps one at a time. Vanna stood in front of the box for a moment, her hands tempted to reach for it. Flashes of the dark came to mind, of Vesper's final thoughts.

She was frightened and alone, with only the Puppet for company. All alone, until…

Vanna's eyes widened in realization.

"...Someone found her," she whispered.

Mike gave her a strange look. Five gentle whirs indicated the animatronics did too.

"What do you mean?"

"Someone found Vesper."

Vanna reached for the box, setting a gentle hand on top of it.

"Puppet was moved eventually," she said. "Someone had to move it."

A calm stillness encompassed her body as more thoughts clicked into place.

"Someone opened this box," Vanna continued. "Someone found my sister and never told anyone."

Mike looked down at the box.

"...The Smiling Man?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Vanna said, "but Puppet probably does."

A glance to him.

"Do you think it was going to tell us?"

"After everything else it showed us," Mike answered, "I think it wanted to."

He turned back to the two nearby animatronics.

"Did either of you guys see anything?" he asked.

_Nay, lad,_ Foxy said, gently.

_No,_ Chica answered.

Mike turned around to Bonnie and Freddy.

"What about you two?" he asked. "Vesper Belrose. Small, dark hair, green eyes, disappeared nineteen seventy..."

He turned to Vanna.

"...One," she finished. "We came in 1971."

Freddy and Bonnie both shook their heads.

_We were not even activated at the time, _Freddy said.

..._Wait_.

All of them turned to Chica.

"What is it?" Mike asked.

_I don't have much,_ Chica said, _but I _do _remember something_.

_That's impossible,_ Bonnie said. _We didn't activate until 1973_.

You _didn't_, Chica corrected. _I was being built long before that_.

Vanna perked, remembering what Vesper showed her in her memories.

That there was a partial animatronic on the table.

_It's only audio,_ Chica continued, _and it's distorted, but I hear a child crying. It fades and stops._

She paused for a moment as sorted through her databank.

_It goes on from about 11:53 in the morning to 2:46pm,_ Chica said. _After that, it gets quiet._

She went silent again for several minutes, her expression blank. After a long while, Chica spoke once more, having pulled up a proper file.

_It's 9:52pm. Something heavy is being moved. The box is being opened._

Another pause.

_Someone is talking,_ Chica continued. _He sounds scared, but I can't make it out. He pulls something out of the box. And then he stops. He laughs. He leaves and comes back. There's a crinkling sound. He picks something up, and then he leaves_ _again_.

"Vesper?" Vanna asked.

_Maybe,_ Chica said. _But that's all I know_.

Mike looked at the box, then over to Vanna. Vanna let Chica's words sink in, both of her hands pressed against the box now. She remained silent and still as she stared at the purple ribbon, the near-invisible seam down the middle where the box opened.

Finally, she looked up at Mike.

"...What time is it?" she whispered.

Her voice sounded hollow and weary. Mike sympathized, just as emotionally drained.

He checked his watch.

"5:37am," he said.

Mike looked up at Foxy and Chica, then over to Freddy and Bonnie.

"...I think we should probably call it a night," he said.

_That seems most prudent,_ came Freddy's rich baritone. _This is a lot to take in_.

He turned and headed back towards the stage. The other animatronics began to follow his lead.

Jeremy stayed down for another moment, before he pushed himself back up onto his feet to follow the others. Vanna finally let go of the box to turn around and watch the animatronics head for their proper places. Foxy quickly dipped back through the Pirate Cove curtains. Freddy was already taking his place, with Bonnie and Chica still at the foot of the stage.

Freddy became gold again. An image of a golden rabbit stood in the empty space beside him. Strawberry frosting crept into her nose.

"Wait!" Vanna said, suddenly. "Chica, Bonnie, don't go up just yet."

Both of the animatronics turned to her with puzzled expressions.

_Is there something else we can do?_ Bonnie asked.

"Just hold on for a minute."

Chica and Bonnie both nodded and stepped aside. Vanna then turned to Jeremy.

"Can you go and stand by Freddy?" she asked.

She pointed to the purple Bonnie's usual spot at Freddy's stage right. Jeremy tilted the animatronic head in curiosity, but went to do as she asked. With extreme care, he navigated the old metal body up the three steps leading to the stage. He then took his place beside the bear, facing out towards the audience.

_Like this_? he asked.

"Almost," Vanna said. "Pretend you're holding a guitar."

Jeremy shifted the animatronic hands into an air guitar pose. Vanna nodded when she was satisfied.

"Perfect," she said.

_What is this for?_ Jeremy asked.

"I need to retrace my steps," Vanna said.

She then turned to Mike.

"I don't know if this will even work," she said, softly, "but be ready if something happens?"

Mike nodded and stood behind her.

"I will," he promised.

Vanna nodded back, then looked at the stage. She closed her eyes and took a breath. When she opened them again, she imagined herself back at Debbie Jefferson's party, and the game of hide-and-seek. She pretended Freddy was gold and had five fingers. She thought of Spring Bonnie when he was bright and new again, with green eyes and a purple bow around the right ear.

Then, as prepared as she could be, she took the first step onto the stage.

* * *

_Override successful._

_Restoring: bwickes_personal._

_Restoration in process._

_Restoring..._


	32. Cake

_**Summer 1971**_

_The gentle hum of machinery powering on filled her ears. Vanna glanced up to the two beings towering over her. The darkness of the stage distorted their movements into something strange and unreal. She tried to move, but found herself mesmerized by them, at how the shadows twisted their normal movements._

_Two sets of plastic eyes looked down at her. The only other thing she saw for sure were their big, gaping mouths and the white edges of their teeth._

_Vanna tried to turn around to run, only to stumble right into Fredbear. Her hand smacked into something flat and metal as she clawed at the air in an attempt to grab onto something._

_A sharp scream erupted from her body. Something clattered to the floor. Soft, heavy objects landed on her head, tumbling down her body and tugging at her skirt as they rolled to the floor. The smell of frosting grew heavier. Numerous squishy objects hit the floor around her. Both of the animatronic faces leaned in closer, green and brown eyes now glowing faintly._

_Vanna somehow found her legs again and turned around, throwing the curtains open. Her foot slid on something slick, and in another moment, she hurtled forward, slamming down against the steps. Pain shot through her head first, then the rest of her body. She tried to push herself up, turning around in time to see Bunny following from behind the curtain._

_Time seemed to stall. The animatronic lost its balance, its face getting bigger as it tilted towards her._

_Vanna reached her hands up in defense. Her fingers snagged on the little purple ribbon around the rabbit's ear as she tried to push it away._

_Her body smashed into the tile below her. The back of her head burst with pain. The heavy animatronic pushed down against her chest, making it difficult to breathe._

_The entire room went quiet for only a second._

_And then the startled screams and frantic footsteps rang in her ears as the world faded away._

* * *

Jeremy quickly stepped toward Vanna, reaching out to grab her as her gaze faded, her eyes rolling to the back of her head in a faint. Beside him, he heard something small and heavy hit the ground, then a set of padded footsteps trying to get to her as well. Vanna slipped from his plush fingers, her foot missing the steps behind her and throwing her weight towards the hard tile below. His metal body halted in mid-step, all of his joints refusing to move any further.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Freddy's brown hands grab for her, the microphone since abandoned, with similar luck.

Below the stage, Mike caught her instead.

He stumbled back, landing hard on the tile floor as Vanna crashed into him. The night guard winced and gritted his teeth as his pelvis slammed into the hard, smooth surface.

Vanna seemed out of it. She stared up at the ceiling, her green eyes half-lidded, and her perception off. She groaned a bit, unaware of her current surroundings. Jeremy tried to step toward Vanna, but his metal body remained frozen in mid-step, his front foot teetering on the edge of the stage.

All of his joints refused to move any further.

* * *

_Database search complete._

_File found._

_Opening…_

* * *

"Vanna?"

She groaned again, then opened her eyes. Mike helped her sit up, then pressed his feet to the floor. He pushed himself up onto his feet, groaning as he pulled Vanna up with him. Vanna utilized his help, though she remained unsteady on her own legs. She put a hand on Mike's shoulder to support herself, the other curled around his waist.

"...Fuck," she whispered.

Mike shifted a bit for comfort, but continued to let her use him as a brace.

"What did you see?" he asked.

"I saw…"

She glanced up at the stage, where Spring Bonnie hovered over them.

"...Jeremy?" Vanna asked.

He remained frozen, the toes of his back foot propelling him forward as his heel upfront provided proper balance. The old, yellow arms stretched forward.

A moment in time, seconds before tumbling down from the stage.

Freddy lowered his own hands, his ears lowering a little with relief.

All eyes turned to Spring Bonnie._  
_

* * *

_**06/09/1971 11:28:49am**_

_Voice detected_.

_Child in distress_.

_Engage gentle_giant protocol_.

_**WARNING!**_

_Uneven surface_.

_Gyro recalibrating_.

_**ERROR:**_ _Unable to recalibrate gyro_.

_The camera blurred as he fell forward, straight into the face of a terrified little girl. A crashing din erupted on the internal microphones. The ceiling, the girl, the stage, and the tile floor all became a blurry mess as the camera caught the action._

_It settled finally on shadowed tile. Muffled sobs echoed out from under him, barely picked out from the sudden screams and footsteps rushing over._

* * *

_Gyro recalibrating…_

_Gyro recalibrated._

_Resetting default position_.

* * *

Spring Bonnie's front foot tilted forward until the heel rested flatly against the stage. It then slid back, pulling Spring Bonnie's body back into a standing position, with the arms at his sides like a tin soldier. A moment later, Jeremy shook the animatronic's head, his ghostly pupils once more blinking in confusion.

_I_..._I'm sorry. A file came up, and-_

His gaze went to the stage in front of him, where Mike helped Vanna stand again. She seemed out of it, but unharmed. Jeremy quickly left the stage, tromping down the steps to join his friends.

_Is she all right?_ he asked.

Mike gave him a weary nod.

"...Same vision?" he asked.

_No,_ Jeremy said, before he glanced around the room to the other animatronics. _Well...maybe_? _The little ghost girl brought up a file_.

He looked down at Vanna, tilting his head in curiosity.

_The child in the file looked like the ghost,_ he said.

"Vanna's twin," Mike said simply.

Jeremy nodded. The Spring Bonnie suit glitched again, fixing itself a second later. Vanna finally stabilized enough to let go of Mike's waist and try to stand on her own, though she kept a hand on his shoulder. The sugary cake smell still overpowered her nose, making her nauseated and unsteady.

"I...slipped…" Vanna said, quietly. "I fell…"

_Its balance got thrown off,_ Jeremy explained, _and it couldn't recalibrate the gyro in time_.

"Cake," Vanna whispered, finding her own balance again. "It slipped on the damn cake."

Her legs shook, and her other hand found Mike's other shoulder.

"Oh, god," she moaned. "Everything hurts."

Mike gently grasped her wrists to give her more stability.

"You're okay now," he said. "History didn't repeat itself."

Vanna nodded and took another breath. She dared herself to let him go, and partially surprised herself when she remained standing. Jeremy carefully stepped aside to allow Bonnie and Chica to take their proper places.

The room noticeably lightened a little. Mike took a quick look outside. The sky was barely turning a midnight blue. He checked his watch.

5:46am.

Less than fifteen minutes before his shift ended, and Waylon Kent's began.

Mike quickly turned to Vanna.

"You need to leave," he said, quietly, "while there's no one here."

Vanna looked over at the windows, then back at him.

"But Mike-"

Mike cut her off.

"How am I going to explain why you're here?"

Vanna conceded the point.

"...Okay," she said. "Let me just grab my things."

She ran back to the office to grab her purse and her coat. While she was gone, Mike collected his own possessions from the table. Giving a wary glance to the animatronics, and particularly to Spring Bonnie, he slowly buttoned his shirt back up and fixed his badge. The tie, he merely shoved in his pocket, rather than waste the effort to put it back on.

He immediately felt relieved when none of them paid the full uniform any mind. Jeremy even set Spring Bonnie's hand on his shoulder as further assurance that it didn't bother him.

As Mike pulled his hat back on, Vanna came back through the west hall, pulling her red coat over her shoulders as her purse hung over her arm. Her possessions collected, she stopped by the Puppet's box, placing a hand on it. Her lower lip started to tremble. She forced it back as she pulled away, approaching Mike. Mike intercepted her and took her hands.

"You'll be okay?" he asked.

"No," Vanna said, honestly. "Will you?"

"...I don't know," Mike said. "Probably not."

He pulled her into a quick hug, holding her tightly.

"But I'll see you after six," he promised.

Vanna returned it, before she turned to the animatronics on the main stage, then Foxy, then Spring Bonnie.

"We'll be back tonight," she promised, "and we'll do what we can to take care of the Smiling Man."

_We'll be waiting,_ Freddy said.

_...Thank you,_ Jeremy said, quietly.

Vanna forced up a smile. She touched his plush hand as she passed by him, then turned to go without another word. The door jingle rang as she headed outside, picking up her pace as she made her way away from Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, and towards the shopping center nearby.

Mike watched Vanna's retreating form until she turned out of sight, more than relieved that no other vehicles, whether for Freddy's or the numerous other stores here, showed up. He checked his watch again.

5:56am.

Four minutes or so until someone - likely Waylon - relieved him of duty. He turned back to the animatronics, who were all moving back to their places now, save for Spring Bonnie.

_What now?_ Jeremy asked.

"I'm not sure," Mike said.

He glanced to Jeremy, then the back room.

"What's your power level at?"

_Um...give me a second_.

Spring Bonnie froze for a moment while Jeremy figured out how to pull up the reading without being prompted.

_It says it's at 23%. ...This thing loses power fast; I was at a full charge at midnight_.

"Then we should get you charged up," Mike said, gesturing for him to follow.

Jeremy guided Spring Bonnie into the back room. He pressed the suit's hands against the work table, and with some difficulty, lifted himself up. The old servos hissed, and the metal feet scraped the floor as he climbed on top, guiding the suit to lie back in its original position. Mike's watch beeped for 6:01am. He quickly shut it off, then found the cord at Spring Bonnie's waist. He tugged at it, measuring out a proper length to plug it in.

..._Mike?_

Mike looked up to Spring Bonnie's mask staring at him from the table. Silver glints caught the morning light, and Jeremy's ghostly pupils glowed from behind them. Being alone with the suit, the sight unnerved him more than when he had Vanna with him.

"Yeah?" he said, quietly.

..._How are Ma and Da?_ Jeremy asked. _After six years…_

Mike shifted some of the boxes on the shelf and pretended to look for the socket.

"...They miss you," he whispered, "but they're moving on."

He forced up a smile.

"They've never forgotten, though," Mike said. "Ma still has our pictures everywhere."

He shoved the plug into the socket, then reached up to wipe away a bit of moisture that threatened to form.

"Da's been gradually moving your things to the attic. Ma's kept your bed and a drawer full of clothes. They call it a guest room now, but…"

Jeremy sat up a little, the one good ear perking up.

..._They're still hoping,_ he said, his voice dropping.

"Yeah," Mike agreed, just as quietly.

..._What about Thomas?_ Jeremy asked, hardly daring to ask.

"Gray?" Mike asked with a frown.

Of all the people affected by Jeremy's disappearance, he figured Thomas might have held off hope a little longer. Mike still felt bitter about how quickly Jeremy's boyfriend gave up on him.

"He's...moved on," Mike said, softly. "He transferred to another state not long after you disappeared. Couldn't handle you being gone."

..._I see,_ Jeremy said, quietly.

Mike caught the note of hurt in his brother's voice. He sat back against one of the table legs, trying to push back the rekindled bitterness. A lump formed in his throat. Mike choked it back.

"They're all moving on," he whispered. "I...couldn't. I stayed for about a year after you disappeared. But after that next Halloween, I...I hoped. And then I couldn't do it anymore."

Mike found himself tracing the edge of two connected tiles.

"I moved out right before New Year," he continued. "I spent that year alone in a half-furnished apartment. Since then, I'll see Ma and Da a few times a year, until summer ends. Then they don't see me again until Christmas."

_I'm sorry,_ Jeremy whispered.

He went quiet for a moment as he lied back down again, staring up at the ceiling. Mike shifted against the table.

"...I have your last journal," he confessed. "I stole it before I moved, but I...never read it. I was always too afraid to, in case..."

MIke heard a small creak as Jeremy nodded.

_It won't do me any good now,_ he said, gently. _If it was permission you needed, then take it_.

Mike shuddered, but nodded. He remained quiet as he continued to stare at the tiles, his eyes now following a long streak in one. Neither brother spoke for a time, until Jeremy bravely broke the silence.

_...When...when I realized it was the end,_ he whispered, _all kinds of thoughts went through my mind. Pain, mostly. Fear. But...I remember thinking of the man who did this, and what he probably did to those kids. Then I thought about home, of Ma and Da, Thomas_…

The suit shifted on the table.

_...You_.

He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts.

_You came to us because you lost your parents. I helped you get over that, and now, I was leaving you too_.

A small hitch, another moment taken.

_...It's hazy after that,_ Jeremy said. _Puppet came as I was having those thoughts, and it...somehow, I felt a little peace. That things would be okay, even if just for a moment. And I knew you'd get through it too, somehow._

Mike nodded as he pulled his knees up into his chest. He kept his gaze on the boxes on the shelf in front of him.

"Just...fuck, what do I tell them?" he whispered. "_How_ do I tell them? I barely got Vanna to believe any of this shit."

_Worry about it later,_ Jeremy said, facing the ceiling again. _Right now, we all need to rest. And we all need to find the Smiling Man_.

"If we can," Mike muttered. "It's not like he's going to just walk through that do-"

A soft jingle echoed through the restaurant. Mike winced, and unwittingly knocked his head back into the table leg.

"Fuck!"

He scrambled to his feet. Maybe whoever just entered didn't hear that.

"Hello?" a voice called.

Double fuck.

"Is there anyone here?"

It wasn't the janitor's simple drawl, or Waylon's impatient screeching. But something about this new voice seemed familiar.

..._Mike_…

Mike slowly looked at down Jeremy. The mask faced the ceiling again like it did before, though the ghostly pupils looked right at him. The entire effect unsettled him.

_That voice,_ Jeremy whispered, then shifted his pupils towards the door. _It's...it's_ him_!_

Triple fuck.

Mike gripped the edge of the table, and looked towards the door. Outside, he heard a set of footsteps in the dining room approaching in this direction.

"...He knows I'm here," he whispered.

Mike carefully set a hand on Spring Bonnie's shoulder, more to assure himself than Jeremy.

"But I'll be okay."

Jeremy sounded hesitant.

_How do you know?_

Mike checked his watch.

"Because if you give it five minutes, Waylon's gonna come in and chew my ass out for still being here," he whispered, for once welcoming of the manager's usual riot act. "The day guard is _never_ in this early. It's too risky for him to do anything."

The footsteps came closer. Mike quickly moved away from the table and towards the door. A glance outside showed a man by the stage, holding the curtain back to check behind it. His tall height and broad shoulders gave him an intimidating appearance, and he wore his guard hat down over his eyes. Mike stepped out of the room, brushing himself off a little.

"Hey," he said, to get the man's attention. "I didn't hear you come in."

The day shift guard turned to him. Mike wasn't sure what he expected, but the man seemed just as taken aback by him. Once over the initial surprise, the man quickly regained composure and gave Mike a soft smile, though it was his eyes that caught Mike's attention: how they seemed to shift in a quick glance to a part of the room before they honed in on him specifically.

Mike wasn't sure how he remained so calm, knowing who this man was. They watched each other for maybe a few seconds, but to Mike, it felt like hours.

"Heh," the man said. "Caught me surprise, there, son."

He looked Mike over again.

"Do forgive me, but for the night shift, I was expecting someone a bit taller."

Mike took the opening to talk. Talking meant buying time. Buying time meant ensuring he had Waylon as a witness.

"Yeah?" he said, crossing his arms in irritation. "From what I hear, all the he-men before me couldn't handle it longer than three days. I've been here a week."

The day shift guard laughed as he offered Mike his hand.

"Greg Mortman," he said. "Dayshift guard, and glorified babysitter."

He chuckled a bit at his own joke. Mike hesitated as he looked him over again.

Peach flesh, just like Jeremy said. Thin blond hair poking out from under his hat. Lines of middle age. A wide smile that every one of his victims seemed to remember. A slight gleam under his collar. Greg's toned arms tightened against his purple sleeves and his broad shoulders spoke enough of his strength.

More than that, something about him looked _very_ familiar.

"Gonna leave me hanging, Mr…?" Greg asked.

Mike quickly took his hand, and tried not wince at the strength of Greg's grip. He beat Jeremy down while wearing that golden Freddy suit. What was he capable of bare-handed?

"...Sorry," he said, registering the question. "Long night. Er, Schmidt. Mike Schmidt."

"You certainly look shaken, but not stirred, Mr. Schmidt."

"Ha," Mike said flatly as he pulled his hand away. "Funny guy."

"I try to be."

Greg seemed to fully take him in, and by his demeanor, looked like he was about to ask him something. Mike had an educated guess as to what he wanted to ask...because he had the same question on his mind. He quickly bit that bullet before Greg could.

"Didn't you work here before?" he asked, trying to play it casually. "You're older, but I recognize you. You used to help with the show."

Greg smiled.

"I did, a long time ago."

Mike nodded, not liking the accuracy of his hunch. Now to go in for the kill.

"Wait…" he said.

Greg tilted his head as Mike looked him over. Mike noticed that while his face remained calm, Greg's posture tensed a little. Not wanting to agitate him further, Mike quickly pulled up a look of proper surprised realization.

"You were also that guard! The one who helped me!"

Greg quirked a brow in curiosity, though his posture relaxed.

"You've got to be specific, son."

"When Freddy broke," Mike said, quietly. "He bit my arm."

Greg's jaw lowered a little in shock.

"You were _that_ kid?"

"Yeah."

"Heh," Greg said, pulling his jovial demeanor back up. "Small world. Will was just talking about how you refused to be scared off the other night. I can see why."

"Will…?"

The door jingle played. The janitor entered quickly.

"Hey, Mike. I was just-"

He stopped as he noticed Greg, then quickly cleared his throat.

"Day shift isn't supposed to be in this early," he said.

"I have something to discuss with Mr. Kent," Greg said, calmly. He then looked back to Mike. "I can see why you like this one, though, Will. He's got a bit of a mouth of him, but he's stalwart."

Greg gave Mike a playful slug. Mike just awkwardly rubbed his arm and took a small step away from Greg the second he looked away.

"And I found out what you meant about him refusing to be scared off," Greg continued. "Not many people return after being bitten by an animatronic."

Will smirked a bit. He shot a glance to Mike, before he turned back to Greg.

"Hope you don't mind, Greg, but the kid and I got plans."

"Plans…?" Mike started.

"Breakfast," Will said, simply. "Remember? You promised to share that _other_ wild story from here. Said it'd take too long to cover before the start of your shift."

Mike was still a little confused, but then it clicked.

Will was giving him an exit.

"Right, thanks for reminding me," Mike said, quickly. "Long night."

"No worries," Will said, before turning to Greg. "I'll see you tonight."

Greg gave him a small salute.

"I'll hold down the fort until management gets in."

"You won't be waitin' long," Will said. "Waylon tends to be in by now, though I'm surprised he ain't already here."

He made a quick once-over of the room, before he turned to Mike.

"...Thought your girlfriend was meeting us?"

Mike stared at him a moment, before he realized what he meant.

"Oh! No, we have to pick her up," he said, quickly.

He checked his watch.

"And speaking of, we should get going," Mike said.

He turned to Greg.

"Nice to meet you."

"Heh. You too, son," Greg replied. "Maybe I'll see you later."

Mike _really_ didn't like the sound of that.

"...Sure." He turned to Will. "Ready?"

"Sure am. Let's go."

Will gestured to the door, which Mike only too eagerly walked towards. The door jingled, and Mike quickly pulled out his keys. His entire body felt like it let out a breath that had been held too long, and his skin suddenly felt a chill that had nothing to do with the November wind.

"You okay, kid?" Will asked, once they were safely out of earshot.

"Let's just go get Vanna," Mike said, quietly.

"After that, you follow me," Will said.

"Why?"

Will gestured to the building.

"We got things to discuss, and the walls could have ears."

Mike nodded in understanding, and quickly unlocked his car.

"...Somethin' bothering you, kid?" Will asked.

Mike tilted his head towards the building, then got into his car. Will nodded in understanding, and climbed into his green truck. He waited for Mike to pull out first, then followed him. Mike wearily guided his car out of the Freddy's lot and into the shopping center to look for Vanna.

Once outside the danger zone of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, he let his mind focus on when and where he last saw Gregory Mortman.


	33. The Smiling Man

_**Friday, November 13, 1987**_

_As he turned the corner to enter the small shopping center, red and blue flashing lights caught his attention. Several black and white cars filled the parking lot, with an ambulance just pulling in. Mike stopped his bike for a moment, taking in the scene: the flashing lights and vehicles, the concerned, gathering crowd, the officers trying to keep the peace. He took it all in, only then realizing the source of all the commotion._

_No._

_Of all the places on this block, in this shopping center, why __**there**__?_

_Mike took a breath and propelled the bike forward again, steering toward the new Freddy Fazbear's Pizza with only one thing, one person on his mind. Several cars crowded the parking lot, leaving almost no space for the emergency vehicles, let alone anyone else trying to get in. Still, he kept his attention near the front entrance._

_There, not far from the front door, he caught a familiar light blue color. Mike's heart raced upon seeing it._

_And it stopped long enough to identify it as a blue '83 Suzuki FX._

_He pedaled faster, his lungs already bursting from the trip up here. As he got closer to the crowd, he dismounted his bike, abandoning it on the sidewalk. His shoes dug into the asphalt as he ran, bolting toward the new Freddy Fazbear's Pizza._

_The white building loomed over him as he ran over. A purple and blue-green checkered ribbon circled the top, with the welcome sign in the middle. A newly-designed Freddy looked down at him as he got closer, with a blue Bonnie and a cuter Chica on either side of him. All three had cheek circles and bright eyes and smiles that normally looked welcoming. Now the red and blue lights made them all disconcerting._

_Several officers kept back the gathering crowd. The entrance doors hung open, allowing parents to escort their crying children from the building, while others spoke with some of the officers on the scene. Mike carefully pushed his way forward, his eyes looking for that familiar purple uniform. He wove his way to the front entrance, where a small police blockade cut off the restaurant from the rest of the shopping center._

_A woman in black pants, a purple apron, and a blue-green Freddy's polo stood by the entrance, hysterically talking to an officer. She spoke so fast that only a few choice words made it to Mike's ears._

_Words like, "acting strange" and "sudden" and "so much blood."_

_Mike's blood turned to ice as he listened to the Freddy's waitress. His eyes went to the front entrance, the purple frame, the open blue-green doors leading into the pizzeria._

_The feelings that disturbed him that morning worsened. Something happened, he knew. Something dire. He tried to hold out hope that it wasn't fatal._

_That his brother would leave that building alive._

_The second he got a chance, Mike ducked under one of the barriers. He slipped by a mother holding her sobbing child, and made his way to the front entrance, where the waitress still frantically gave her report. The officer caught him in the corner of his eye and interrupted his report to stop him._

_"Sir, this is a crime scene. You need to get back behind the-"_

_"My brother's in there!" Mike interrupted, trying to at least get a glimpse through the front door. "He works here! _Please_!"_

"_I understand, sir, but you need to-"_

_A new voice spoke up._

"_Did I hear that right? Your brother?"_

_Mike stopped arguing with the officer to look towards the source of the new voice. A tall, blond man stood nearby. His black pants, blue shirt, and badge marked him as a security guard. He looked about mid-forties, with the first signs of age and thinning hair, and at just over six feet, he towered over Mike by about a head. His blond hair, clearly neat to start with, hung over his face from stress, and his blue eyes honed in on whatever they caught, taking in every detail._

_Upon getting a better look at him, Mike immediately recognized the blond man as a longtime staff member from the old location, a detail that quickly took a backseat to more important matters - like the knot forming in his stomach at the anticipation of bad news._

"_Yeah," Mike said, relenting a bit now that someone familiar - even if only a little - was giving him answers. "Jeremy."_

_The guard carefully gestured for Mike to step aside with him to allow the officer to finish taking his report. Mike numbly obeyed, moving to let another set of parents leave with their crying children. He kept looking at the front entrance, at the open doors and the checkered tile floor and the posters hanging in the front foyer._

"_...Where is he?" Mike asked. "Please. I just...I-I need to know!"_

_The guard's face went blank for a moment, as though trying to compute a proper reaction. He glanced up to the sign above them._

"_Jeremy, Jeremy..."_

"_Fitzgerald," Mike offered. "He worked nights. Is he…?"_

_The guard pondered a moment more, then looked visibly relieved. He shifted his gaze back to Mike, his blue eyes carefully taking him in to examine every subtle movement, every breath, every little change in his face._

"_...I'm sorry," the guard said at last. "I wish I could help you."_

_Mike shifted a bit uncomfortably, not liking the way the guard looked him over. He noticed how the man's face remained calm and stoic as he talked._

"_Then he's-?"_

"_Not inside," the guard said, reassuringly. "He didn't show up for work this morning."_

"_Morning?" Mike asked, confused. "He's on the night shift!"_

_The man gave a nonchalant nod._

"_That is correct," he said, "but he was switched to days. Today was supposed to be his first shift, but he didn't show up. I was called in last-minute to cover for him."_

_The corners of his thin mouth turned downward into the subtlest frown._

"_No one's seen him."_

_Mike narrowed his eyes, the inner pain temporarily forgotten to rage._

"Bullshit!"

_He thrust out his arm to point to the boxy little blue Suzuki sitting at the front entrance._

"_His car is _right there_!" he screamed. "He _has _to be here! Where is he?!"_

_The guard held up his hands in defense. His face became blank again, with only the tiniest hint of concern._

"_I'm telling you the truth, son. Ask anyone here; no one's seen him."_

"_Then what's with all this?" Mike asked, gesturing to the police cars and ambulances around them. "What the _fuck _happened here?"_

_The guard frowned again, then shook his head._

"_We had an incident," he said, simply._

_He lowered his hands to clasp them in front of him and simply gave Mike a grim frown. He turned to the waitress finishing up her report, then toward the barrier, where only a few families remained. The man then looked back to Mike and lowered his voice._

"_One of the robots malfunctioned," he explained. "The victim was a guest. I didn't see it happen myself, but I saw the aftermath."_

_He turned back and softened a bit, trying again to reassure Mike._

"_Wherever Jeremy is, at least know he didn't get hurt."_

_Just as he finished speaking, the sound of wheels and footsteps on tile echoed from inside the building. The guard gestured for Mike to step aside to make a bit more room. Nearby, the officer taking the report from the waitress did the same, leaving the front door completely unhindered._

_Not long after, a team of paramedics came out of the building, quickly wheeling a gurney towards the open ambulance. Some of the paramedics blocked the view of the person's face, but Mike saw a purple-sleeved arm twitching on the gurney, the rest of the body convulsing under a blanket. Something glinted off the right wrist, that catching his attention more than anything._

"_Jeremy!"_

_He started to run over, reaching to take the victim's hand. The guard grabbed him around the waist and held him back._

"_No, son, it's not-!"_

_Mike tried to struggle away, but the man gripped him tightly, keeping one arm around his waist and moving the other across his chest, his fingers digging into Mike's shoulder to keep him from getting any further. Mike beat at the man's hands, clawing and digging into his skin._

"_Let me-let me go!"_

_He reached a hand towards the gurney, his focus only on that purple sleeve._

"_Jeremy!"_

_He kicked at his shins, but the guard held firm, shifting his own weight to ensure Mike stayed put._

"It's not him, son!"

_The guard tightened his arm against Mike's chest, forcing the teen to hold still for a second. In that second, Mike got a proper glimpse at the victim's hand. He then stopped struggling, but only because of the red nails glinting in the sunlight. Mike froze, better taking in the cream-colored skin, the daintier shape of the fingers, even the lightness of the fabric covering the arm. The paramedics still blocked the face, but now he saw a lot of red spilling over the white pillow, and blonde locks hanging off the end of the gurney._

_A woman._

_A woman in purple gauze, not the distinct cotton of a Fazbear uniform._

_A woman wearing a thick bangle bracelet instead of a watch._

_Mike just stared at the victim's hand, no longer noticing the guard keeping him back. The man told him the truth: it wasn't Jeremy, like he initially thought._

_Then where…?_

"_I told you."_

_Mike went limp, now only barely acknowledging the man's arms still around him. After a moment, he weakly tried to break free. The guard held him back another moment, then let him go when he trusted his temporary charge wouldn't run. As soon as the man freed him, Mike stepped forward, then stopped, his eyes still focused on the bracelet. The internal storm quelled a little, and for the first time since that morning, he felt…_

_..._Numb_._

_The guard gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Mike just watched the paramedics, mostly to force his mind to take in the scene, to ensure that the person on the gurney wasn't his brother. One of the medics finally moved enough for him to see the victim's face...and the large, gaping hole in her forehead, the blood caking around her eyes and on her cheeks, the sickening metallic smell he caught even from here._

_It shocked him into stillness for a moment, and brought him back to that summer day in 1983._

_Flashes of gold crossed his vision, of Freddy reaching out to the audience as his maw dripped with blood, the sad glimmer in the corner of his eye. Children crying and screaming, the staff trying to reign in the chaos and help him, the paramedics lifting him into the stretcher._

_Mike grabbed his right arm, wincing with remembered pain. The doctors told him how lucky he'd been, how the fractures occurred just below his wrist and elbow. If those jaws had snapped directly on his joints, if they'd had been any stronger…_

_Only a miracle would have allowed him to use his arm again. _

_As Mike ran his fingers over the old scars, another thought came to him, one that kept him strong while the guards loosened his arm from Freddy's jaws: that if he hadn't been there, and Brian had gone through with that prank unhindered..._

_That thought alone brought him back to the reality of the few seconds he'd been watching the paramedics lift the gurney into the ambulance. Mike blinked, and in an instant, the woman on the stretcher now told the story of Jamie's potential fate._

_Of what he prevented those years ago._

_Mike dropped to his knees then, one hand clutching his stomach, the other up over his mouth. His stomach lurched, and he tried to force back the burning bile that churned with the emotional upheaval that tormented him since he realized the driveway would remain empty. Bitter tears escaped as pain shot up into his nose. Mike forced himself to swallow, to just try to keep it all back. He succeeded at first, but the sickness refused to stay down._

_What barely counted as breakfast ended up all over the sidewalk._

_He covered his mouth again, using his thumb to wipe the residual vomit from his lips. Nearby, he heard a few voices of concern from the crowd around him, the officers on the scene forcing everyone else back. Mike ignored them, closing his eyes to try to block out everything else._

_It took a few moments before he felt he was under control again, trembling in pain, in shock, in horror at what he had just seen, at what he remembered. He felt a gentle hand running over his back and heard someone beside him slowly lowering themselves to his level. Mike looked up. He picked out a ring of yellow, two blue dots, and a thin line through his blurred vision._

"_Are you okay?"_

_Mike reached up to wipe his eyes, then shook his head. He allowed his mind to go blank for a moment. If anything, the lingering pain gave him something else to focus on._

_The guard nodded and gently offered a hand. Mike let go of his stomach to take it, but kept his other hand over his mouth in case his body forced up another round. The man carefully wrapped his other arm at his waist, then shifted his weight to help him stand. Mike slowly moved with him, his legs suddenly feeling like lead. He let the guard guide him just inside the building, every step forced and heavy._

"_...I'm s-sorry," he whispered through his fingers. "Just...holy fuck, her _head_! It bit her _f-fucking head_!"_"_I know, son. I know."_

_The guard directed Mike to a bench just inside the front foyer, a long, thin blue-green block with a thick purple cushion. Its normal use allowed families to sit while waiting for a table, and even across the way, two other employees sat on a similar one, both of them looking exhausted and upset._

"_Here," the man said, guiding Mike to the bench. "Have a seat. I'll get you some water, okay?"_

_Mike simply nodded and did as the man instructed. The soft purple cushion sank under his weight, and the fabric still retained some of its fresh new smell, something that helped settle his stomach a little. Mike pressed his feet to the floor to feel a sense of grounding and listened to the man's retreating footsteps. He barely heard an officer stop him, then offer an escort to the kitchen upon hearing an explanation._

_When the world felt even somewhat right again, Mike looked up just to take in his surroundings._

_A few design elements carried over from the old location, like the checkered floors and the speckled walls, even the silver stars, though these were now on garlands, draping the walls like Christmas lights instead of hanging from strings on the ceiling. Already, children documented their adventures in crayon, the drawings slowly taking over the free space on the walls._

_Just above the employees sitting across from him, he noticed a poster divided into four segments, each showing an animatronic's face. Mike carefully took them in, if only to keep his mind occupied on something else._

_He started at the left with Bonnie, now a brilliant blue with green eyes, purple lids and long lashes, and bright red circles on his cheeks. He briefly wondered if the redesign came about to better fit the rabbit's girly name. Next to him, Mike picked out Chica with her rounder head and beak, and overall friendlier design. He noted her cheek circles were actually pink, unlike the others, and on thinking of her original look, Mike realized he missed her purple eyes compared to the soft blue now. Freddy himself now sported a bulkier head that looked more like a plastic figurine than a teddy bear. Of them all, Foxy changed the most, with a white face and pink snout, pink detailing, long lashes, and even what looked like red lipstick to compliment the cheek circles._

_The poster beckoned kids to ROCK! EAT! PARTY! PLAY!, but in light of current events, no one would be doing any of that anytime soon. After letting the new designs sink in, Mike looked over the poster again, this time, focusing on one detail:_

Which one of you did it?

_Foxy's - or what was it Jeremy called it the other night? Something about a Mangle? - large jaws naturally caught his attention first, along with the matching sharp teeth. Mike's arm ached as he moved to the left to Freddy, and a part of him looked relieved. Just by the poster, Freddy's entire snout looked much smaller than his old design, and part of him wondered if the incident four years ago inspired the new look and smaller mouth. Mike then flipped back and forth between Bonnie and Chica. Chica's beak, not unlike Freddy's snout, seemed to have a limit on how far it could extend down. Bonnie's lower jaw, however, looked like it might be able to unhook further than the poster let on, not unlike a snake._

_The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts. Mike looked up to see the blond guard return with the officer, the former now holding a Freddy's cup brimming with water. Carefully, the man took a seat beside Mike and offered him the cup. After a moment, Mike took it, then took a long, careful drink. The icy liquid cooled his throat, the chill spreading over his chest as the water passed into his stomach. He shuddered, but it helped ease the remaining sickness._

_Once he emptied half the cup, Mike turned back to the man. He was dying to ask about the source of the mayhem, but was unsure if the question was appropriate. He felt nothing but relief when the guard spoke first, breaking the awkward silence between them._

"_Better?"_

_Mike nodded._

"_Yeah," he said, quietly. "Thanks."_

_The guard gently gripped his shoulder again. Mike winced, but turned around to face him, suddenly feeling uneasy. Something about this man bothered him, particularly the blank look, how his blue eyes met Mike's own, how his mouth stayed in that thin, grim line as he thought of what next to say._

"_...I'm sorry," the guard said at last. "I really wish I could help you more."_

_Mike swallowed hard, biting his lip as he slowly nodded to the man. He turned to look out the open front door, where the ambulance since left to bring the woman to the nearest hospital. That tight, uneasy feeling returned, making his heart sick with worry. He took a breath, then forced himself to go numb again._

_Numb let him keep his head. Numb let him have hope that his missing foster brother was at least alive and healthy somewhere. Numb let him believe that wherever Jeremy was right now, he was better off than that woman._

_The guard let go of his shoulder. Mike turned back to him, still trying to remain numb._

_Calm._

Hopeful_._

"_...You really don't know?" he whispered._

_He watched the guard's face, at his normally combed back hair that now fell in his face from running around and handling the incident, at how his blue shirt looked rumpled, and even had drying red flecks that he never noticed before._

"_No one's seen Jeremy," the guard answered, quietly._

_He gave a quick glance to the nearly-empty parking lot, at the blue '83 Suzuki FX sitting empty by the front entrance. It just barely remained in sight from here, completely separate from the remaining police cruisers and the few guest and employee cars still sitting in the lot._

"_We already told the police," he said, then turned back to Mike with that piercing gaze._

_Mike fought the urge to inch away from him._

"_I have no reason to lie to you," the man said, once more trying to reassure him. "We had to give a record of every employee on the premise, and the entire building was searched as part of the investigation. He's not here."_

_He forced up a smile, in an attempt to assuage Mike, but withdrew it once he noticed the younger man's desperate, worried expression remained unchanged._

"_I just…"_

_Mike took another sip of his water to give himself a moment to think._

"_...I don't believe this," he whispered. "When he didn't come home, I...he's never...n-never late."_

_A thought struck him._

"_...Oh, god. Just...fuck. _Fuck_!"_

_He reached to put a hand over his mouth and forced himself to breathe._

"_I have to go home," he whispered. "And I don't...his parents. _Our _parents. Just...just _fuck_, w-what do I - what the _hell _do I tell them?"_

_The guard gave him a moment, waited until Mike quieted down again._

"_If it's of any condolence," he said, "whatever happened last night, we're just as concerned."_

_He again forced up a smile, but once more withdrew it once he noticed Mike's desperation remained unchanged. For the third time, he placed a hand on his shoulder._

"_We'll find him."_

_Mike simply gave one slow nod and went back to his water, sipping it slowly now as he glanced across the room. The employees who occupied that bench had since left, leaving only the poster by itself. Mike looked over it again. His eyes ran over the new designs, the words...the jaws. He winced a little, knowing only too well how that poor woman felt. And unlike her, he escaped with a normal life._

"_Take the time you need," the guard said._

_Mike nodded hesitantly in response, then looked over to the blue car still sitting in the lot._

_And hoped that soon, its owner would be found_.

* * *

It didn't take long to track down Vanna. Mike spotted her bright red coat at a coffee kiosk towards the middle of the shopping center. He numbly navigated the car nearby. He waited for her to finish up with the barista, before he gently honked at her, then waited for her to join him. Once inside, Vanna slid him a covered cardboard cup.

"Pick-me-up," she muttered as she buckled her seat belt.

"Good," Mike said, forcing his mind to focus on something else at the moment. "We're gonna need it. Will needs to show us something."

"Like what?" Vanna asked, sipping at her own coffee.

"I don't know, but it's important," Mike said. "And more than that...I know who did it."

"Did what?"

"Killed Jeremy."

A small burst of coffee sprayed onto his glove box. Vanna choked on the rest of that sip, then settled a quick coughing fit as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"_What?_" she managed after clearing her windpipe. "_How?_"

Mike let her compose before he spoke again. He kept Will's truck in sight, and turned to follow it.

"It's the day shift guard," Mike explained. "Greg Mortman. Jeremy recognized his voice when he came in."

Vanna stared at him, her coffee hovering in her hand as she listened.

"God...Mike…"

"He probably killed those kids, too," Mike said. "Maybe Vesper. And that's not the worst part."

Vanna set her cup in the cup holder.

"_How_ can it possibly get any worse?"

"I recognized him," Mike said, "from six years ago. And if _I_ recognized _him_, he may have recognized me too."

Vanna stared ahead, letting the gravity of his last few words sink in.

"... Where are we going?" she asked, at last.

"I don't know," Mike answered, "but I trust Will."

"Good," Vanna said, picking up her coffee again, "because I'm trusting you."


	34. Artificial Intelligence

_Override activated._

_Auto update date and time: 11/13/1993 06:17:29am._

_Opening files_…

* * *

_**03/06/1970 11:41:02pm**_

"_Good morning, little one."  
_  
Voice detected.

Engage sound_location.

_From above, it heard a knocking sound. It perked, and looked for the source of the sound. Thinking for a moment, it reached up and tapped against the top of the lid. A soft giggle broke through, followed by another knock._

"_Aren't you going to come out?"_

Engage personality_test.

_It pondered a moment, then reached to lift up the lid, peeking out of the darkness just enough to see._

_A young woman's face came into its camera view. It saw her smile first, dark red lips with bits of color breaking away to show flecks of pink underneath, then the soft, golden color of her skin that held a darker undertone. Glancing up a bit more, it took in focused green eyes, and long, straight black hair smoothed back with a red headband._

"_Hello, little one," she said._

_It quickly ducked back into its box. It heard the scratch of a pencil against paper, and then another knock. Once more, it lifted up the lid flap, and once more, it saw the woman. She sat at a work table. All around her, it saw shelves with boxes and parts. On the work table were papers, a notebook, a strange green bottle, and a glass with a dark red liquid in it._

"_Why do you hide?" the woman asked. "Are you shy?"_

_The camera view moved up and down as it nodded its head. The woman made another notation on her paper, before she turned back to it._

"_Don't worry," she said, softly. "You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm your friend. Your mother, in a way."_

_The woman pointed to herself._

"_You can call me Miss Bonnie, little one," she continued, then pointed to it. "Your name is Puppet. Do you understand?"  
_  
Engage watch_learn.

Engage artificial_intelligence.

_More up and down movement to acknowledge._

"_Do you know what your purpose is, Puppet?"_

_Another nod, before it slipped back into its box. It turned on its night vision to look for something, and upon finding it, resurfaced back to the top. It opened the lid again, holding it up with one hand. It stayed back in the shadows, extending only its arm out as it presented Miss Bonnie with the object: a smaller box, wrapped in colored purple paper with a red ribbon._

"_Thank you," Miss Bonnie said, taking it. "But this isn't for me."_

_She gently undid the ribbon, then carefully tore at the paper. It watched as she pulled off the lid of a white box underneath, then lifted out pieces of tissue paper until she uncovered what was inside. Miss Bonnie pulled out a white object, and held it near the box for Puppet to see: a mask with red cheeks, and purple lines smoothly dripping from its eyes to the top of the smile. Little hints of red dotted the lips._

"_Do you like it?" she asked._

_A nod._

"_Why don't you come out, then, so I can put it on?"_

_It ducked down into the box, but this time, Puppet left it open a sliver. Miss Bonnie waited patiently. After a moment, Puppet carefully pushed the lid all the way up, until it hung over the side of the box. It held onto the edge, leaning forward towards Miss Bonnie._

_True to her word, Miss Bonnie turned the mask around, showing little hooks on the inside to secure it in place. Puppet held still as she carefully pushed it on, making sure every piece clicked properly and securely._

"_There," she said, once she had it in place. "You're complete."_

_She smiled a little wider, then held up a mirror for it to see its own reflection._

_The white face smiled back, with faint blue LEDs glowing from deep within it eyes. Puppet reached for the mirror. Miss Bonnie carefully helped it grip the handle so it could gaze properly. Puppet tapped at the glass, then at its own face, before it handed the mirror back to Miss Bonnie._

"_It's only fair that the gift-giver receives the first gift," she said, setting the mirror down on her work table._

_She picked up her glass and sipped from it, before she turned back to Puppet._

"_Which is what you will do," she explained. "All you have to do is come out of your box, give a child a present, and go back in. Can you do that for me? Just like you did now?"_

_Puppet nodded again. Miss Bonnie reached to pat the top of its head. It ducked down a little, but let her._

"_Thank you," she said. "Please return to your default stasis."_

_It nodded a final time before it crawled back into its box, closing the lid as it went._

Processing new information.

Updating: personality_test.

Updating: watch_learn.

Updating: artifical_intelligence.

_Outside, it heard a soft _click_, then Miss Bonnie speaking again._

"_Today is Friday, March 6th, 1970, at 11:53pm. I have given my first test to the Protocol Unit for Personality Performance Engagement Test, or P.U.P.P.E.T. for short. Subject responded appropriately to local engagement. The subject indicated tells of the appropriate programmed personality. I will make future adjustments as needed. The subject understood its purpose, and responded appropriately. For its first run, I am satisfied with my results, and I am confident that my personality engagement software, with further development, will be able to give this establishment a spark that no one else can replicate."_

_It heard the little _click _again, then the scritch-scratch of the pencil on paper._"_Rest up, little one," Miss Bonnie told it. "We have a long few days ahead of us."_

* * *

**Saturday, November 13, 1993**

The old man left with the night guard, allowing Gregory Mortman at least another minute or two alone before Waylon Kent inevitably showed up. He glanced around the room, at the stages, and then the present box in the back. He smirked a little as he approached the box. When he got close enough, he tapped on it to mockingly make its occupant aware of his presence.

"Been a long time, hasn't it, rag doll?" he muttered.

No answer. Fine by him.

"I'm not sure what she did to you to make you immune to me," Greg continued. "No matter how well I tweak and adjust, you always have a way of overriding my changes."

His smirk widened.

"But it won't matter after tonight. You haven't beaten me yet, and you won't start now."

He waited patiently for a response, and was only met with silence, which amused him more.

"You didn't save that guard," he continued. "You didn't save that brat, and you didn't save _her_."

His smile widened with anticipation.

"And you won't save your new friend tonight, either."

He patted the top of the box, expecting the further silence that followed. It was broken a moment later by the door jingle. Greg turned to see who had arrived.

Good.

Just who he _wanted_ to see.

Waylon Kent waddled in, pulling his coat off as he made it inside. He twitched his mustache in irritation, then reached up to wipe his nose.

"Damn wind," he muttered, hooking his coat over his arm.

Greg waved to him from the prize counter.

"Morning, Mr. Kent."

"Morning, Schm-"

Waylon looked up, a little surprised to see the tall, broad, blond guard there instead of the small, wiry brunette one. He looked properly unamused.

"You're not supposed to be in until ten, Mortman."

"I know," Greg said, "but seeing the performances yesterday, I noticed some lag and jittering."

He pointed a thumb toward the main stage.

"When was the last time you had proper upkeep done on those animatronics?"

Waylon scowled.

"It's not in the budget," he said. "We do what we can to keep them in working order, but I don't have a dime to spare for new parts. We're closing down at the end of the year anyway, so it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," Greg said, quietly.

He glanced over to the stage.

"I used to work on them, you know. I spent _hours_ cleaning, building, maintaining, and reprogramming. It's _insulting_ to see them in that state."

"The kids don't care," Waylon said, "and you're in too early."

"Well, since I'm here, can I at least do a quick clean and tighten their joints?" Greg asked, turning back to Waylon. "It won't take longer than an hour or two, and they'll run better until this place runs down."

"I'm not paying for it," Waylon said, curtly.

"I wasn't expecting you to."

"Pro-bono, huh? What's the catch?"

"I feel less insulted about the work I put into those machines to begin with, and I get to do something I love to fill my morning, instead of wasting it at a coffee shop while waiting for my shift to start."

Waylon seemed to consider it.

"...All right," he muttered. "But only because your file said you're certified."

He headed for the east hall, where the the tiny manager's office waited for him. He stopped, then turned to Greg.

"But if you break them, it's coming out of your salary."

"I expected that too," Greg said, with a small shrug.

Waylon nodded and headed back to his office to deal with the morning paper work. Once in the clear, Greg shot a predatory look at the present box. He then went into the back room to find some tools.

* * *

_**03/10/1970 10:17:32pm**_

_The sound of the backstage door shut and locked. Puppet stayed down in its box, as it had done the last few days until Miss Bonnie came to check on it and run tests if she had time, and at least tell it hello if she couldn't linger. It listened to the familiar tread of her footsteps, waiting for her to knock on the lid._

_And she did._

_Puppet gently pushed the lid up, peeking out only enough to see Miss Bonnie. As usual, she smiled, but something seemed different about it tonight._

"_I have something to show you," she said._

_Puppet noticed something under her arm. Miss Bonnie noticed it looking, and held up the object._

Engage watch_ artificial_intelligence.

_Puppet pushed the lid up a little more so it could better see the object in her hands. It was large and rectangular, and thick enough that Miss Bonnie needed to hold it in both hands to showcase it properly. The front of it was was white with a cutout heart. Around the heart were the words, "Our Memories" written in silver. Inside the heart was a picture of Miss Bonnie and a man it did not recognize._

"_This is me and Freddy," Miss Bonnie said. "We built this place together."_

_Puppet committed the photograph to memory, then looked back up at Miss Bonnie, questioningly tilting its head. Her smile still looked strange, as if someone pressed her lips too tightly against her endoskeleton._

"_This is always a hard night for me," Miss Bonnie whispered, "because Freddy is not here anymore. He disappeared three years ago."_

_She opened the album, and began to show it a few pictures. Puppet took each one in as vital information, for why else would Miss Bonnie show them? It only saw pictures from the first few pages, some of them showing Miss Bonnie and Freddy in white, while others showed them in different colors, doing different activities together._

"_But we were happy," Miss Bonnie said, turning the album around so she could look at it herself._

_She gently ran her fingers over some of the pictures. Puppet's eyes were once more drawn to her lips. They moved unnaturally, shaking. Her eyes started to shine. It tilted its head to better take them in, intrigued that they could do that._

_The shine spilled over, trailing down Miss Bonnie's face. Puppet reached up and touched its mask, tracing one of the purple lines there._

_It was like her, it realized._

_Always smiling, with streaks down its face._

Engage personality_test.

Processing new information.

Activating emotional_algorithm.

Determining factors.

Processing emotional output.

_Puppet pointed to its smile, then to Miss Bonnie, pleased with this new discovery. Miss Bonnie, however, seemed to take no notice of it. She stared at a page in the photo album, then wandered over to the work table, her eyes never leaving the book. Puppet followed her movements. It watched as she set the album down in front of her, then reached into her pocket for a set of keys. Miss Bonnie then crouched down to crawl under the work table._

_She located a small silver box, and unlocked a padlock. The front of the box swung open on a hinge, revealing four tall green bottles inside. Miss Bonnie grabbed two and pulled them out, then dug into the box until she found a sheer, round glass with a stem, and a tool of sorts. She locked the strange box again, then opened the tool, revealing a sort of spring with a pointed end. Puppet watched as Miss Bonnie used this tool to pull the top out of one of the bottles, then pulled herself back up to her seat with her prizes._

_Once she situated herself, she poured a strange, bubbling red liquid into the glass. She barely had it halfway full before she lifted it to her lips and chugged it down, then turned back to the album on the table. With her hunched posture and bowed head, her long hair hung over her face, hiding all but her shining eyes from Puppet's view._

_For a long while, Puppet held up the lid and watched her continuous pattern of looking at pictures, filling her glass to drink from it, turning the page, and occasionally reaching up to wipe the shine from her eyes. This strange ritual intrigued it. Sometimes, her hair moved just enough to see a smile, but something about the shine on her face made it look...off._

"_...I miss him so much," Miss Bonnie whispered after a while. "Everything about this place, everything we built together...it's like he's still here. I can feel him here."_

_Miss Bonnie finally turned to look in Puppet's direction. More of the shine dripped down from her eyes, tinted now with black streaks, though her smile began to fade. Seizing the opportunity, Puppet once more pointed to its own smile, its own lines on its cheeks._

_They were the same._

_She gave it a face like her own._

_Miss Bonnie shook her head after a moment._

"_I can't sm-smile," she said. "N-not right...not right now."_

_She reached up to bury her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook, and strange sounds came from her vocal unit._

Distress detected.

Engage damage_control.

_Puppet pushed the lid away entirely so it could lift itself out of its box. It clutched the edge of it, leaning over at its waist to reach for her. The tips of its fingers barely grazed her arm. The string attached to its cross tightened, limiting its reach._

_Miss Bonnie gasped, and turned to look at it. She no longer smiled. Her eyes were red. The shine on her cheeks smeared, and those strange sounds cut in and out. Puppet kept its arm outstretched, wanting her to come closer. Miss Bonnie forced up a smile._

"_You don't...n-need to worry about me, li-little one," she said. "I-I-I'll...be fine."_

_She picked up the bottle and started to pour from it, only to find very little left. Miss Bonnie picked up the spiral tool to open the other bottle._

"_I jus'...I jus' need t'relax," she said, her words starting to slur together. "I-it will pass."_

_Once she got it open, she didn't bother pouring it into the glass. She simply put it to her lips, and took a long swig._

"_My poor Fr-Freddy-bear," she moaned. "God, I w-wi...wissssh you could m-meet him, Puppet. He'd love you."_

_Puppet reached for her again as she took another long drink, spilling some of it onto her shirt. The dark stain spread over her chest._

"_D-damn it," Miss Bonnie said._

_She reached a hand to her head and rubbed her temples. Puppet took in her misery, and knew it had to do something._

Distress detected.

Engage damage_control.

_It reached for her again, and once more felt the tug of the string. Puppet looked at its hand, where the string attached to its wrist. It pulled at it, trying to take it away, but the string remained attached._

_Trapped, it realized._

_Trapped, with Miss Bonnie crying right there, and no way to reach her._

_Puppet gripped the edge of the box, trying to think off something else. It looked back at its wrists, at the strings...and upon following them, it found another piece: a little silver torus. Under it, the Puppet noticed grooves sticking out from its wrist, spiraling in…_

_...Like the tool Miss Bonnie used to open the bottles._

Updating watch_learn.

Updating artificial_intelligence.

_Puppet carefully gripped the torus and turned, just as it saw Miss Bonnie do. It took a few attempts, but it soon unscrewed the strings from its limbs, freeing itself. Being occupied with her bottle, Miss Bonnie never saw her creation lean out of its box, claw at the floor, and pull itself out. She never saw it pull itself towards her, like a dying man desperately crawling to a well. She only realized something long and thin wrapped around her shoulders, and a cold, hard head resting against her own._

"_P-Puppet…?"_

_It _

knew _there was a reason Miss Bonnie showed it those pictures. Her Freddy often seemed to be holding her like this._

_And she always smiled when he did._

_A loud _clink _echoed from the tile floor, followed by a _slosh _and two _glugs _as the green bottle hit the floor, dumping some of the red liquid over the black and white tiles. Slowly, Miss Bonnie carefully put her arms around Puppet's thin, round chest._

_She shook as she tightened her grip._

"_...Thank you," she whispered._

_A new wave of shine leaked from her eyes, but Puppet glimpsed her smile._

"_That was _exactly _what I needed."_

* * *

Mike kept Will's old green truck in sight as he navigated the little light blue Suzuki FX to follow it. Vanna sat quietly in her seat, watching the road ahead and occasionally sipping at her coffee. A rock station played on the radio, the volume only loud enough to be heard. As they drove, Mike and Vanna took turns filling each other in on the strangeness they each faced alone.

Outside the car, the city became suburbs, and within twenty minutes, even those faded away into a small woodland area with bigger, grassier yards and smaller houses, with small thickets of trees and bushes separating the neighbors from each other. Will turned up a hill, and then into a denser patch of trees.

Mike followed him. He severely disliked how alone and isolated the houses around here were. If Vanna thought the same thing, she made no indication.

Will veered off the road and into a dirt driveway. He parked in front of an old, two-story house with weathered boards. Just like the other homes here, it had a large front yard, with two large aspens hiding parts of the house from the street.

Mike parked behind him and killed the engine. Vanna quickly got out, locking her door as she did. Mike grabbed the coffee she got him and followed suit. Ahead, Will had also disembarked from his truck, and was sorting through his keys for the one to the front door.

"Sorry 'bout rushin' you over here," Will said, "but like I told you, I didn't want unwanted ears listenin' in."

He glanced to Mike.

"And neither did you."

Mike nodded, choosing to wait until they were safely inside before he told Will what he discovered. Even here in the outskirts, he felt too exposed. He and Vanna followed Will into the house and shut the door behind them. They stood on a small landing, with a set of stairs going down, and another set going up to the open living room. A glance up showed an iron railing, and the back of a brown couch propped against it.

"Will?" Mike asked.

"Hmm?"

Will turned to Mike.

"...It's Greg," Mike said, wanting to get it out now that they had proper privacy.

Will turned to him, then gestured for him and Vanna to follow him downstairs as they spoke.

"Had a hunch he knew somethin'," Will muttered.

"No, what I mean is," Mike said, a bit more urgently, "he killed those kids. And he killed Jeremy."

Will halted at the bottom of the stairs. Mike and Vanna both stopped as well. The old man turned around and gave them both a once-over, his aged face stern at first. Will turned to Mike, and his sternness melted away into sorrowful uncertainty.

"...Fitzgerald?" he asked, after a moment.

Mike gave him an awkward nod.

"My brother," he whispered, forcing his voice to stay steady. "I…"

He stepped down, until he stood beside Will.

"...I know you found his body."

Will remained silent for a moment as he considered how to respond.

"...How?" he managed at last.

"He told us," Vanna said, descending the steps until she joined her companions.

Will stared at her.

"But he's…"

He trailed off. A thought suddenly answered his own question.

"...The suit," he said. "It must've shown you something."

"More than that," Vanna said, "it's haunted. All of them are."

"Only Jeremy could talk to us directly, though," Mike added. "The others...I think the animatronics speak _for_ them. They're far more articulate than any child."

Will remained silent for another moment. He just gave them a defeated nod.

"...Makes sense," he said quietly, "given how they were programmed."

He cleared his throat, then turned back to Mike.

"And regardin' Jeremy...I did what I could when I found 'im," Will said, quietly. "Don't ask where 'is body ended up; I wouldn't tell you if I knew."

Mike awkwardly took a step back. Vanna moved a little closer to her friend. Will set a firm hand on Mike's shoulder, and aligned his brown eyes with the night guard's.

"But I...I helped 'im disappear," he confessed, "because I know he didn't do nothin'. I saw it in his eyes as soon as I pulled off that mask."

Will forced back a shudder.

"Ain't no nice way to put it," he said, breaking his gaze away from Mike's. "If that suit didn't do 'im in first, fear definitely did, and all these years, it's haunted me. Never seen anyone look that damn terrified in my life."

He gave another pointed glance back to Mike.

"And knowin' you two were related...well, it explains a lot about you, kid. And I'm…"

Will closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath.

"...I'm sorry about that," he said, turning away. "I know it's probably done a lot of damage to you and your folks. I knew I was gonna hurt people when I did it, but I _had to_, Mike."

He looked back at the night guard. Mike felt every sensation drain as he listened, until he became numb.

Numb was preferable to shock.

Numb was preferable to _pain_.

Even Vanna's hand grazing against his felt so far away.

"I had to keep the case open," Will continued, "so he didn't get blamed for whatever happened to those kids. So the right person would be caught and punished. And it..."

Will choked a bit, his tone a lot more tender.

"...It seems I was right," he whispered, "and I'm...I'm sorry for it, Mike. I'm sorry it had to be this way. I'm sorry I had to hurt you to uncover the truth."

Mike swallowed hard and nodded. It was all he could do to keep up the composure he'd built up on the way here; to stay numb. Will squeezed his shoulder, then let go. Vanna's tight grip on his hand replaced Will's. Mike hesitantly returned it. Will then turned from them and gestured for them to follow him.

"I'm still shocked to learn it was Greg," he said, trying to get off the subject, "though in hindsight, well...we go back."

Will dug out his keys again and sorted through them as he walked. Mike gently pulled his hand from Vanna's and quietly followed him, his best friend trailing behind them.

"Like I said," Will continued. "I figured he knew somethin' about the place that he wasn't lettin' on, but...I...I honestly didn't expect it to be _murder_."

He gave a quick glance to his companions.

"But more on that later. Let me show you what I needed to show you."

He quickly lead them through a large open room until they reached another door on the right, but Mike and Vanna took in enough of the space to determine a sort of comfortable man-cave: a pool table and darts, a cushy couch creating a barrier away from the game space, a big screen TV, and artwork of sports figures and beer ads donning the walls.

Will got the door unlocked and reached through the door frame, fumbling to the side for the light switch. Mike and Vanna carefully stepped inside.

And as soon as the light came to life, Mike and Vanna immediately understood why the old man brought them here.


	35. The Olden Days

Vanna felt a sense of déjà vu as she moved to the side to let Mike have more room to look around.

To the left, a shelf was embedded in the entire wall, with special doors preserving its treasures behind glass. Everything on it was a collectible of sorts: clocks, figurines, watches on neat stands, framed artwork, pins, plush toys, plates, mugs, small prizes. There was a clear method to the arrangements: the memorabilia closer to the door mostly sported golden bears and bunnies with purple accessories. As the shelf moved to the other end of the room, other characters were added and traded out, the entire shelf a sort of transition from Fredbear's Family Diner to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

Against the far wall was a desk and chair, a single shelf perched right above it. The shelf held a few framed pictures, intermingled with books and photo albums. On either side of this solo shelf hung original artwork from Fredbear's, carefully arranged so each piece was as visible as possible.

In the back corner opposite the memorabilia shelf was a specially made corner shelf sporting an extra costume head each of Fredbear and Spring Bonnie, both with their original brown and green plastic eyes. Fredbear's head still had his purple hat. Spring Bonnie sported long eyelashes and a purple silk bow around her right ear. On the bottom shelf sat a large Fredbear plush. Even sitting down, the thing was over three feet tall.

Mike's arm ached when he looked at the Fredbear head. It looked _exactly_ like the Freddy that bit him all those years ago. He pushed back the flashes of that day as he moved to the right side of the room.

The right wall held a display of smaller costume pieces and animatronic parts, each neatly labeled and showcased. More artwork gathered around this display, along with a collection of framed newspaper clippings, many of them documenting the opening days of Fredbear's - with one Mike immediately recognized as a copy of the one he found in Waylon's filing cabinet - and the subsequent Freddy Fazbear's locations, along with a few follow-up articles detailing the initial surprise success of Bonnie Wickes' entrepreneurship, and her advancements in her robotic mascots.

Along that wall near the main door, the room's closet hung open, revealing an array of old uniform polos, and a few stacked boxes under them. Mike immediately recognized the white, purple, and green ones as staff uniforms from both of the Freddy's locations, the colors coordinating with the staff ranks. The two remaining red ones, he'd never seen before, though he saw blobs of yellow heads on the pocket that he assumed were Fredbear and Spring Bonnie.

The entire room held the care and organization of a small museum.

"You've been collecting these all of these years?" Vanna asked, looking over the trinkets on the shelves.

"Yep," Will said. "All of the Fredbear stuff was Bon's, and I just kept addin' to it as the years went by."

He gave a fond smile as his eyes went over the room.

"We both put a lot of work into that place, Bon and I," Will said, "but things just weren't the same after she passed. Times change, companies change, people change."

"Is that why you just work as a janitor now?" Vanna asked.

Will nodded.

"Bein' in there weighs down on me," he said, "and somethin' about the whole place just doesn't feel right anymore. I always felt the place was haunted, but...with memories, not ghosts."

"Looks like it's both," Mike said, quietly.

He caught a few figurines of the Toy animatronics among the display, drawn in particular to Toy Bonnie's bright blue coloring, and Toy Foxy's white and pink, both of them sticking out among the sea of yellow, purple, red, and brown. Mike briefly recalled something Jeremy once mentioned about the Toy Foxy animatronic being taken apart by the kids, and the staff being so fed up with putting it back together that they just left it as an attraction. He smiled a little as his mind played segments of that conversation, only for it to fade a moment later.

That there was less merchandise of the Toy models than even the Fredbear characters spoke enough of that location's short-lived existence, let alone the tragedies that happened there.

A loud gasp from Vanna broke him out of his thoughts. Mike glanced over toward the Fredbear end of the display, where Vanna now crouched to get a better look at something behind the glass.

"What?" Mike asked, coming over.

Vanna point to two stuffed animals sitting together near the bottom: a bear and a rabbit, both of them a golden yellow. Their smooth, button eyes shone brown and green, and their plush was still as new as they day they were built. The only accessories, save for the bear's hat, were ribbons: a bow around the rabbit's right ear, and a bow tie for the bear.

"I _knew_ I didn't imagine having them! Those look _exactly_ like the ones my bitch of a mother threw out!"

Her hands shook as they touched the glass, her fingers flexing with an urge to grip. Will walked over and leaned down. A look of contemplation crossed his face.

"...Wanna hold one?" he asked, gently.

Vanna, who had been mesmerized for a moment, seemed to snap out of her trance.

"...Oh. Oh, no, Will, I couldn't."

"Psh," Will said, reaching for his key ring. "All they're doin' behind there is collectin' dust. Y'ask me, I think they could use a little love."

He got the case open, and soon enough, Vanna found the toys stuffed into each her hands. Her long fingers almost touched her thumbs as she gripped their waists and looked them over. The button eyes seemed cold and lifeless, just half-spheres of flat color, but the plush felt as soft and cuddly as it looked. She found herself clutching them tightly and nuzzling her nose between the rabbit's ears. It smelled of fabric and bits of dust, but she didn't mind.

Will smiled, then walked over to the shelf above the desk. He pulled out a worn photo album from it and held it out for them. Mike took it from him and opened it, spreading it out on the desk for Vanna to see. From the very first photo, they knew what it catalogued.

"Fredbear's," Vanna whispered.

It showed a picture of the same building they just left, only the entire front was painted purple, with gold trim on the doorway and around the top. Gold stars dotted the building, and the bright sign showed a smiling bear in a purple hat and bow tie, and a yellow rabbit with purple bow on its right ear, each on either side of Fredbear's Family Diner.

"Yep," Will said, pointing to the photo right below it. "More'n that, look at the opening day photo. Notice anything?"

Mike gaped at the photo. It was dated March 10, 1967, and looked similar to the one in the newspaper clipping, only in full color and the building better framed in the background. He now saw the entirety of the "GRAND OPENING!" banner, and underneath it, the smiling woman amidst several other staff members. On either side of her were Fredbear and Spring Bonnie, lingering in the back of the photo due to their towering height. The woman stood on level ground with them, showing she wasn't too much shorter than the animatronics. If her height didn't already make her stand out, her red polo amidst the purple, white, and green of the rest of the staff did the job.

Like in the newspaper photo, the smiling woman proudly held a framed picture of a dark-skinned man with a bald head, short, fluffy beard, and a large smile. With the coloring, Mike now noticed her skin looked olive-gold, and her eyes shone a bright green.

Like _Vanna_.

He shot a glance to his friend, and noticed her wide eyes as she put it together. Vanna nearly dropped the stuffed toys she held, and only barely caught herself before they tumbled from her hands.

"...Mom?" Vanna whispered in disbelief as she stared at the photo.

Mike looked between the photo and Vanna. While she made sure that he and her mother never met, Mike _definitely_ noticed the resemblance. Will gave Vanna a strange look, then shook his head.

"No, that's Bon," he said. "It seems twins run in that side of the family, but that's not-"

Will quieted when he noticed how Vanna gaped at him, at a loss for words. She then looked back at the photo, staring at it in disbelief. Several thoughts clouded her mind as she tried to make any sense of it, clearing only enough as she realized...

"...Bunny," she whispered.

Not for Spring Bonnie, as she initially thought.

_Bonnie_.

Her _Aunt_ Bonnie.

"Had a hunch you were related the moment I saw you," Will said quietly, "and you confirmed it when you asked about your sister, but there wasn't time to get into it. Figured it was more important to for you two to know about the Spring Bonnie suit in case it gave you any issues."

Vanna just nodded, still trying to process this discovery. She set the plush toys down on the desk and picked up the album, skipping over pictures of Fredbear's interior to find a better picture of her aunt. She stopped on one of Bonnie in the back room, even sitting at that same table. Scattered parts and a few assembled limbs on the table showed she was in the process of building an animatronic, though which one was unclear. Bonnie herself looked as though someone just got her attention, pulling her from her work just long enough to get a quick snapshot. Vanna studied the picture, from Bonnie's eyes, to her smile, to the shape of her face, to how she carried herself.

Physically, the only real difference Vanna noticed between her aunt and her mother was that Bonnie preferred to wear her hair straight, while Bailey kept her natural waves. But the relaxed posture, the start of a laugh, the warmth in her eyes - if Bonnie and Bailey stood side-by-side in the same outfit and with the same hairstyle, Vanna would easily tell them apart simply by which one looked truly happy.

It took another moment for her to find her voice again.

"...I didn't know Mom had a sister," she whispered. "Why would she...holy _hell_, why would she keep this from me?"

"Your mom lost Bon the year before Vesper disappeared," Will answered. "Since Bon's death was an accident, she let you two visit afterwards, but when your sister went missin', Bailey just...kind of lost it. Screamed that the place was cursed, and decided that everythin' havin' to do with Fredbear's needed to disappear. And that meant Fred's part of the family as well."

"That's messed up," Mike said.

Will nodded in agreement as he leaned against the desk.

"I think it was just the final straw," he said. "After everything 'bout Fred, then Bon puttin' everything into the restaurant, her death...Vesper's disappearance was just the thing that pushed her over the edge."

Vanna looked up from the album.

"...What do you mean, everything about Freddy?" she asked.

"He disappeared," Mike answered.

Vanna looked at him, then back to Will, who nodded to confirm.

"Without a trace," Will said, softly, "but even before that, there were problems. Bon and Freddy were head-over-heels for each other, but her family never approved of their marriage. When they got engaged, her parents threatened to disown her, and Bon told 'em to go right ahead. Only Bailey showed up to the wedding, and even then, she kinda kept to herself at the reception. I think she made small talk with Carol - that's Fred's mom - but that was it. Bon didn't care, though. She was in love, and she had a dream."

Vanna glared at the picture, fuming more with every word Will spoke.

"_Had_ is right," she muttered. "Our whole family erased her from existence. Just like they pretended Vesper was taken by angels."

Will turned to her, a look of pity crossing his face.

"It was bad enough she kept Fred's side a secret," he said. "Didn't think she'd hide Bon from you too."

"...She wanted me to forget Fredbear's entirely," Vanna said, bitterly. "Why _wouldn't_ she hide the one person completely tied to it?"

Her shoulders shook as she ran a hand over Bonnie's picture. Mike inched away from her, sensing danger. Vanna turned the page to see a few candid shots of Bonnie at work, tinkering away at the animatronic on the table.

"There aren't even pictures of her at my grandparents' house," Vanna said. "Just Mom - or maybe some of Bonnie that can pass as Mom. They act like she was an only child, and Mom played along with it."

"I s'pose it's what they feel they had to do to handle it," Will said gently.

"So they…" Vanna started, the words struggling to pass her lips, "...they just...what, erased them from existence? Anyone having to do with...they're just _nothing_ to my family?"

Her hands tightened around the edges of the album. She slammed it down on the desk, causing both Mike and Will to flinch from the sudden noise.

"No," Vanna said, "they _didn't_ handle it! They tried to forget it! They tried to make _me_ forget! And it-"

Her shoulders shook. Her breathing tightened. Tears started to form in her eyes.

"-It f-fucking _worked_!"

Will started to move to her, but stopped, unsure if he should. Mike quickly put a hand on her back, the other gently taking her wrist.

"Vanna-"

Vanna pulled her hand away from him. She reached up to wipe her eyes. Will hung back, watching them carefully for a moment before he stepped out of the room. For a long while, no one spoke. Vanna moved her hand over her mouth, biting back sobs. She shut her eyes tightly and barely dared to breathe. Mike pulled out the desk chair and carefully guided her into it. He remained beside her, running his hand over her spine in an attempt to calm her down. After a time, Vanna heaved in a choking breath. She wiped her eyes again, then pushed the album away from her.

"M-Mike…" she whispered at last.

Mike set a hand on her arm, keeping the other over her back.

"I'm here," he said, gently.

Vanna forced down a few more long, deep breaths before she spoke again.

"It's...too much," she whispered. "All the lies...a part of m-my...my family I didn't…"

"I know," Mike told her. "I can't even imagine."

Behind them, Will returned. He gently set a tissue box down in front of Vanna.

"...If it helps," he said, quietly, "I've been there."

Vanna gratefully accepted and snagged a tissue, wiping her face and blowing her nose before she turned to Will.

"Been there…?" she asked.

Will nodded. His lips tightened a bit.

"It's how I know all this," he said, gently. "Freddy was my nephew and...that's how I got wrapped up in all this."

He gave Vanna a weary smile.

"I helped his momma raise 'im when his daddy passed," Will continued. "One day, he meets a nice, smart girl, and the next thing you know, he's gettin' married and askin' me for business advice."

Mike stared at him for a moment. Vanna stilled as she made some calculations.

"So that would make you…" she started.

"Your great-uncle," Will said.

Vanna nodded as she struggled to think of something to say. Will simply held up a hand, letting her know there was no need.

"I know," he said. "It's a lot to take in, and frankly, we don't have a lot of time. I'll give you a quick rundown, but then there's more important matters to see to."

Vanna numbly nodded.

"...What happened?" she whispered after a moment. "A-after the...after the wedding? Why did they try to...hide this from me?"

Will gestured to the shelf of trinkets, particularly towards the memorabilia of Fredbear and Spring Bonnie. Mike and Vanna looked them over as Will spoke again.

"Even before they wed, Bon and Freddy were workin' to build Fredbear's," he said. "Bon had other plans for it before Fred disappeared. Some kind of circus theme if I recall, but that's not important. That whole place was Bon's dream, and Fred made it his, too. It was risky and ambitious, but they were dead set on makin' it happen. I owned a construction company back in the day. I've since sold it and retired, but I told Fred if he could find a good place to build, I'd help 'im with the rest. They struggled, but they did it. Bought the land, got the building permits, triple-checked to make sure they had everything ready. Fred even quit his day job to work for me. Wanted to help build it from scratch."

He frowned.

"But Bon's parents didn't approve of anything she did, really," Will continued. "Not her dream, not who she married, not even her head for computers. Wasn't 'ladylike'."

"Sounds about right," Vanna said, turning back to him.

"It was mostly her marriage, though," Will said.

Mike nodded. He needed only look at Freddy's picture to put those pieces together.

"And that's why they tried to erase her?" he asked.

Will nodded.

"Not all of it," he said, "but a big part of it. Times were different then. Out of Bon's side of the family, only Bailey supported her. I don't think she ever really cared for the Wickes side of the family, though. Thought Freddy and I were too rough for Bon at first, us comin' from the 'wrong side of the tracks'."

He gently shook his head with a small sigh.

"I don't think she ever noticed why our side was the 'wrong' side," Will continued, "but she supported Bon, and often butted heads with their parents over it, so we let it go."

"I'm sorry," Vanna said, gently.

"Don't be," Will said. He shot a wistful glance to the masks, before turning back to his young companions. "Anyway, Bon was disowned over her marriage and wanted nothin' to do with her folks, but Bailey kept in touch on all sides. I think her parents realized that after they disowned Bon, they had to play nice to keep the daughter they had left. There was peace between 'em all, but it was a tense peace."

"Not surprised," Vanna said.

She came over to pick up the album again to thumb through, looking for more pictures of Bonnie.

"It got worse after Freddy disappeared," Will said. "Bailey said their parents were sorry to hear about what happened and wanted to offer support. Bon accepted, and lookin' back, I don't blame her. She was grieving, and lookin' for comfort."

Vanna's hands shook as she turned another page.

"And she didn't get it," she said.

The next page showed some promotional photos of the dining room back then, with its booths, games, and small, round tables. Vanna ran a hand over a picture of the stage, with Fredbear and Spring Bonnie in their proper places. The open purple curtains shone with gold glitter. Her head throbbed as she studied the picture.

"No," Will confirmed. "Her dad told her that Fred up and left her, and all sorts of other nasty things. Her mother begged her to come home. Bon wouldn't have any of it, though. They fought for weeks. It got so heated, she even banned them from her property. Told 'em she was a Wickes through and through, and to get lost, because they were no family of hers."

He smirked a little.

"Should've seen it when the place started turnin' a profit," Will said. "Suddenly, a lot of her other family, cousins and such, started comin' out of the woodwork, lookin' for a piece. Bon just handed each one a Fredbear figurine and showed 'em the door. Told 'em shared effort is shared bounty. Don't think any of 'em bothered tryin' to contest the will. The few who showed up to the reading stormed out when they realized they weren't gettin' a dime."

Mike and Vanna both laughed at that.

"Fuck 'em," Vanna said.

"That's more or less what Bon thought," Will said.

He pointed to the top shelf, where a few framed photos sat behind some of the trinkets.

"They weren't too happy with what they got," he said. "Some of 'em just walked out; others threw 'em on the ground and stomped on the glass. But I kept a few. They're limited edition, see."

Vanna walked over to where he was pointing, and upon seeing what the frames contained. And when she registered the pictures, she laughed so hard, she hardly made a sound. Mike had to stand on his toes to see them properly.

The pictures showed Bonnie at the forefront, with Fredbear and Spring Bonnie on either side of her, their hands posed with both middle fingers raised, and Bonnie herself doing the same with a very smug look on her face. Written in the top left-hand corner, she wrote, "For all the love you've shown me." In the bottom right, she had written, "XOXO, Mrs. Bonnie Wickes," with the "W" written larger than any other letter.

Mike joined Vanna in another round of laughter.

"Damn, your aunt was cool!"

Will joined them for a chuckle.

"Considerin' all the prep work that went into those photos just to tell 'em what for, there wasn't much point in _trying_ to contest the will," he said. "And Bon made damn sure none of them got any part of her business. Fred's disappearance took its toll on her, but it also made her realize what else she had to lose, and got her to set her affairs in order pretty quickly. Good thing she did, too, or her death would've been a lot messier."

Mike choked back a morbid laugh. Vanna settled a bit as she went back to the album and looked over a close-up of Fredbear and Spring Bonnie.

"But Mom brought me and Vesper to Fredbear's," she pointed out.

"Because she was the only one of her kin welcome here," Will explained, "and that took time."

He sobered a little.

"They didn't talk for several months," Will said. "Bon was hurt and betrayed from the whole spectacle with her parents; Bailey thought she needed to get over it, and that their parents were tryin' to help. Wasn't until after you two were born that they started speakin' again, actually."

Will glanced down at the stuffed animals still sitting on the desk.

"Now, I ain't gonna pretend I know for certain," he continued, "but I truly think what forced her to come around was seein' you two, and realizin' she didn't want to drive a wedge like her parents did to her and Bon. So she reached out and apologized. Bon accepted on the condition they didn't talk about their parents, because so far as Bon was concerned, they didn't exist."

Will's smile returned.

"And I think having you two in her life gave her something to work for."

"You mean, after Freddy disappeared," Vanna said, softly.

Will nodded.

"Bon was struggling, bad. The wedding was it's own drama, but she an' Freddy tried for years to have a kid with no luck. She lost her husband the same year you two were born, and on top of the aftermath of that, she was doin' her best to just get the building in place, let alone the rest of the business. So havin' two young nieces to love and who could visit the place in a few years gave her focus."

Vanna smiled a little, but it faded.

"...And then my mom lost Vesper," she said, quietly.

"I think it was just the final straw," Will said. "Bailey spent all those years as a go-between Bon'n their folks. She believed if Bon hadn't married Freddy, their family wouldn't be broken, Bon would still be alive, and her daughter would still be in 'er arms."

His voice quieted.

"Screamed as much when she came to blame me, personally, for it all."

"Ouch," Mike said.

Will remained quiet as he glanced over Vanna's shoulder to see the old dining room pictures.

"...I've made my peace with it," he said. "Still stings at times, but it doesn't bother me anymore."

Mike nodded, then looked over the articles on the wall until he found the copy of the one in the office. After the lead paragraph explaining Bonnie Wickes' reason for opening Fredbear's, the rest of the article just talked about the restaurant itself, and some of her innovations.

"...What about Freddy?" Mike asked. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

"Not much," Will answered. "It happened back when the building itself was bein' built. Barely had the foundation in. Anyway, Bon calls late one night, askin' if I'd seen 'im. She'd already asked around to see if he'd gone out with his friends, like he sometimes did after work before comin' home. Figured if he wasn't with the boys, he was probably with me."

"But he wasn't," Vanna said.

Will shook his head.

"I told her I'd make a round of his usual hangouts, and to get some rest in the meantime. I started at the construction site. His car wasn't there. I checked the time cards and found he'd clocked out, a little later than the other boys, but that wasn't unusual for 'im. Freddy liked to make runs and double check to make sure everything was put away and ready for the next day."

"Wasn't his car found just outside of town?" Mike asked.

Will nodded.

"Crashed in a ditch," he said, "but there was no trace of Freddy. No sign of anyone gettin' hurt, either. The police figured whoever crashed it walked away. Fred had no business outside of town, so it was chalked up to someone takin' it for a joyride and gettin' out of dodge."

He frowned.

"Personally, I think whoever ditched the car was dumpin' evidence, but we couldn't get the police to take Fred's disappearance seriously. Kept sayin' they had more important things to tend to than some…"

Will's voice hitched for a second. He shook his head, giving himself a moment to compose.

"...Some black man runnin' off on his family," he said quietly.

Vanna winced and turned to Mike, who looked just as uncomfortable. He quickly found himself interested in the animatronic parts behind glass.

"But he loved Aunt Bonnie," Vanna said, trying to allay the sudden awkwardness.

Will nodded.

"Everyone who actually knew him suspected somethin' more'n that, but no one could prove anything," he said, "and you're right that he wouldn't up and leave Bon."

He slowly let himself smile.

"She was everything to him" Will said. "You put the two of them together, and their happiness could light up the whole block."

Vanna forced up a smile. Mike broke away from the display to give Will a small nod. Will's smile began to fade.

"His disappearance completely wrecked her, though," he said. "Bon held out hope for a time, but just buried herself in work. By that time, I took over the investigation myself. Hired more'n one private detective. All the while, she just kept buildin' and hopin'. Based the Fredbear character off of Fred, and built the suit to fit him on the off-chance he came home."

Will gestured over his own body, to his round stomach, thick limbs, and broad shoulders. Mike easily imagined him fitting into a yellow teddy bear suit.

"Back in the day, Fred and I were a similar size," Will continued. "I've lost some weight since, but Bon just made it a bit bigger'n me to be sure. Spring Bonnie was next, and once they were set, the place opened a few months later, a little less than a year after Fred disappeared. Bon hoped that maybe, wherever he was, the publicity might get his attention. As time passed and my searchin' turned up nothing, Bon started drinkin' heavily to cope. Got her to rehab at some point, sponsored her. She refused to believe Freddy was dead, bless her, but...it's been almost thirty years. Whatever happened, I doubt he's comin' back."

Mike nodded.

"...You said there was something else you wanted to show us?" he asked.

"Right," Will said.

He reached over to the album and turned it back to the opening day photograph.

"Probably should've picked a different picture to start with," Will said, "but I know you'll know it when you see it."

Mike and Vanna both took a closer look at the photo, and the writing accompanying it. Will had carefully penned the names of each waitress, manager, cook, and even the janitor, memorializing everyone who came together on March 10, 1967 to help Bonnie launch her dream. Will himself stood to her right, just in front of Fredbear, nearly as tall and stout as the animatronic itself, and a clear contrast to the more slender Bonnie. On Bonnie's other side, though, a familiar face came into view. While notably younger - possibly even their age at the time - and with a blond pompadour and tinted mod sunglasses that nearly disguised him at first, his strong jaw and wide smile gave him away.

Mike's blood ran cold. Vanna simply glared at his smug, smiling face.

"Greg," they said together.

"Exactly," Will said, somberly. "Now look at the others."

He began to turn to specific pages in the photo album, all of them with staff in front of the building on opening days:

July 13, 1973, after the rebrand from Fredbear's Family Diner to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

October 30, 1987, when the new location opened.

March 11, 1988, relocated back after four children and Jeremy Fitzgerald disappeared.

"...He's in all of these," Vanna said. "But why?"

"Greg's a longtime member of the Fredbear Family," Will said. "He was Bon's oldest friend, and helped Bon and me with the workload after Fred disappeared. Was at their wedding, too."

Vanna froze upon hearing that.

"Holy fuck…"

Will nodded.

"He was one of Fred's groomsmen," he said. "After Bon started gettin' serious with Freddy, Greg was the first one she introduced him to, before even makin' an attempt with her folks. He wasn't happy about it at first, but he got over it once he realized Bon wasn't changin' her mind. To his credit, he worked to make good with Freddy, and they were friends too, until he disappeared."

Vanna groaned.

"Was Greg the first one to try to comfort Aunt Bonnie after?" she asked.

"Until she told 'im to back off," Will answered. "How'd you figure?"

"I've deal with guys like that all the time," Vanna said with a frown. "One of the downsides of bartending."

"Well," Will said, "it wasn't a secret that Greg had a thing for her, but Bon was one of those people whose heart beats once for someone, then never again."

"I'd bet good money he only stuck around in hopes she'd change her mind," Vanna muttered.

"I'd take that bet," Mike said.

Will reached up to fix his collar.

"Maybe," he said, a note of discomfort in his voice. "So far as I know, once Bon put 'im in his place about it, he didn't try again."

Vanna flipped through the album again.

"Why are you showing us this?" she asked, solely to get off the subject.

She found a section with individual pictures of employees, and looked for one of Greg. Vanna found him, looking about mid-twenties, with his blond hair in that same dated pompadour, and a prominent white polo with Fredbear and Spring Bonnie stitched on the front pocket. His dark blue eyes looked gentle, and his smile was wide and assuring, as if easing the viewer from his broad shoulders and intimidating height. Knowing what she knew now, looking at this picture felt jarring, like a devil hiding behind a perfect mask.

Had he been planning any of this when the photo was taken?

"Because I probably wouldn't have figured this out if Mike didn't happen into the job," Will explained, "or unburied the Spring Bonnie suit. Brought all kinds of unpleasantries out of the woodwork."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked.

"He hasn't shown up for years. Now that the suit is out, you think it's a coincidence he came back too?"

Will gestured to the album they were still looking through.

"Even before you told me he's our murderer, I had a hunch about him," he said. "Jus' like every openin' day, he was there _every time_ that rabbit had a problem. And on further thinkin' on it, he always had an excuse for bein' there."

He turned to Mike.

"The day you got bit, Mike, Greg filled in for security after a no-show. Real strange that the guy who was workin' before him never came back. Greg retired after that, supposedly, but he kept comin' back. Odd jobs."

Will leaned over Vanna's shoulder to turn a page back to the 1987 opening photo.

"And when this photo was taken, he was still jus' doin' temp work. They only included 'im in this one because he was there to oversee the Toy models for issues, not that it did much good. They had 'em too, just like the other critters."

A frown.

"Memory's not what it used to be," he continued. "I thought he stopped doin' odd jobs in '86 'til I took a glance through this album the other night. I don't think he was around for the Bite, but I was also a bit occupied. Had to make sure the police didn't find the Spring Bonnie suit 'til it could be moved. Didn't exactly have much prep time, or it would've been gone that morning."

Will moved a hand to his chin in thought.

"Don't recall seein' him on the property much that week, come to think of it."

"He was there that morning, at least," Mike confirmed. "I came looking for Jeremy, and he…"

He stared at the 1987 photo. Even with the warm smile, Greg's eyes in this photo looked as intense as they did on the day they talked that same year.

"...He lied to me," Mike whispered. "He told me Jeremy wasn't there, that he didn't show up for work."

He crossed his arms as the numbness threatened to fade. His hands balled into tight fists. Shaking anger struggled to breach through his defenses.

"He fucking lied to my face," Mike said, practically spitting out each word. "Jeremy's car was _right there_, and he told me no one had seen him!"

His voice dropped as he tightened his stance.

"...I knew he was lying," Mike said, quietly, "and I left anyway. I should have kept looking for him."

He felt a hand on his back. Mike took a shuddering breath, and turned to Vanna. She put an arm around him and pulled him to her, giving him a quick squeeze before letting him go.

"Don't beat yourself up, kid," Will said. "Greg probably knew _someone_ was gonna be lookin' for 'im, and planned for it. And truth be told, you wouldn't have found much anyway."

Mike gave a solemn nod. He kept his arms crossed and his gaze to the floor. Will then turned to Vanna, who had gone back to the photo album.

"Only proves what I was sayin' before, that he's always had an excuse. He was workin' the day your sister disappeared, too. I remember because he stayed late to look at Spring Bonnie after she fell on you."

Vanna nodded, then turned to Mike, who was lost in thought as he looked over the animatronic parts again. He slowly went over the details of what Jeremy told him the night before, trying to make sure he didn't miss anything. Greg murdered him, attacked him in that office, hid his identity…

He looked over at the Fredbear mask, before turning to Will.

"Where's Fredbear?" he asked.

"Pardon?" Will asked.

"Jeremy said a golden Freddy attacked him," he said. "What happened to that suit?"

"No idea," Will said.

He gestured to Fredbear's mask.

"Got the rest of those costumes in storage," Will explained, "but the original Fredbear suit disappeared the same night Jeremy did. Only his endoskeleton's left, but the hands were switched out. Four fingers 'stead of five, but I didn't notice that 'til after the investigation, just that the suit was missin'. Knew it was strange, but I had other things on my mind. Figured it had to do with whatever went down that night, but it wasn't as important as tryin' to keep the case open."

Mike nodded.

"So he trashed the evidence," he said.

"You can't clean those suits easily," Vanna said as she mulled it over, "but you _can_ wipe down metal. No sweat, no fingerprints."

A regretful look crossed Will's face as something clicked.

"...That alone should'a tipped me off it was Greg," he said. "No one else 'cept me knew how to safely change out those parts, and I sure as heck didn't do it, but...well, I didn't have any reason to suspect him. He helped Bon a lot, and stuck around after her passing. So far as I knew, he was an old friend."

Mike frowned.

"Some friend," he said. "Using that suit to-"

He stopped as he looked at the Fredbear mask.

At a golden bear, just like he saw on the stage.

_Shining eyes staring at him from behind the sockets_.

_The abandonment of buttons and joysticks_.

_A promise of protection as they walked away_.

_The feeling of dread when he looked at the hands_.

A golden hand gently waved in front of his face. Mike gasped and stepped back, eased only when he saw it was flesh, not plush.

"Mike?" Vanna asked, worry creeping into her face. "Are you okay?"

"...That was him," he whispered.

"What?" she asked.

"Greg," Mike said. "He tried to get to me and Jeremy."

Vanna's eyes bugged.

"What?" she asked. "_When?_"

"After I went to live with Jeremy's family," Mike explained, "Jeremy started taking me to Freddy's to cheer me up. On one of those visits...I saw a yellow bear behind the stage. Something about it felt wrong, and I made him leave."

"Fuck," Vanna whispered.

Mike nodded.

"He listened to me," he continued. "It could have saved our lives that day."

He shuddered as he ran a hand over his arm.

"The whole thing still freaks me out," Mike said. "More, actually, now that I know the golden suits double as costumes. ...Fuck, I was only _nine_ when that happened."

"Mike…" Vanna said gently.

Mike hardly acknowledged her, still focused on the memory.

"...Jeremy always promised he'd protect me," he whispered, "and he kept that promise until the day he disappeared."

A small shudder went through his body. Will gently put a hand on his shoulder.

"Greg isn't just destroying a restaurant," he said. "He's destroying families: mine, yours, those kids'."

"...And he's not done," Mike whispered in realization.

"Don't reckon he is, if he's back," Will said.

"Not only that," Mike said, looking up, "I recognized him back in '87, and I know he worked at the old place before then. It wasn't important then, but now…"

He took a breath.

"...When I was six," Mike continued, "I got scared at one of Foxy's shows. I ran into the back room. My dad followed me, and so did Foxy."

"Why would he do that?" Vanna asked.

"Because my dad was tall and blond," Mike said. "He had green eyes, but they could probably pass for blue in the right light. Greg followed us, and shut Foxy down. He said he wasn't working right."

"Foxy said his programming was glitched," Vanna pointed out.

"You're right," Mike agreed, "and that's probably why. Greg did something to break Foxy, because he got suspicious."

"Saw someone who looked like the culprit walkin' in the back with a kid," Will said, quietly. "They aren't as famous as the '87 incident, but there were incidents off and on before that. Most well-known one was a little girl who disappeared nearby."

"...It's just..." Mike started, a shudder going through his body, "...I remember Greg from a few times in my life. I know he worked at Freddy's, and he was there the day I found out Jeremy disappeared. And if I recognized _him_..."

Will gave him a solemn nod.

"Given how long he's gone without gettin' caught, he probably memorized your face in case you crossed paths again."

"And he doesn't leave witnesses," Mike whispered. "...Fuck, if I go in tonight, I'm probably a dead man."

Vanna put a hand on his shoulder.

"Then don't go."

Mike put a hand on hers. For a long while, none of them spoke. Mike glanced around the room, at the trinkets, art, and newspaper clippings. His eyes fell on the large Fredbear plush in the far corner, with the purple hat and matching bowtie. The bear's warm, plastic brown eyes watched them, the smile as sweet as it was intended to be. Mike looked at the shelf above it, at the spare Fredbear head.

A golden Freddy.

One of the last things Jeremy ever saw before he left this world, and the way Greg kept all of his murders hidden. The spare Spring Bonnie head above it tugged at his sudden guilt. For a moment, he saw the decrepit head back at the pizzeria, with ghostly eyes staring back.

All those years...

"...If he's going to target me anyway," Mike said at last, "we might as well use it."

He felt a sudden sharp sting on his cheek.

"Mike, don't be stupid," Vanna said, her hand still raised from smacking him. "If you go in, he'll kill you."

Mike winced at the slap.

"I know that, but what else _can_ we do, Vanna? We don't have any direct proof, only speculation. And Jeremy can't talk to anyone but us. Even if he _could_, how the hell could we get that to hold up in court?"

"Hate to say it," Will said, "but I agree. Mike's our best chance of nailing this bastard. He's got somethin' Greg wants, even if it's his life."

A frown.

"But he won't be alone," Will continued. "Greg knows about him and me, but he doesn't know about you, Vanna. We _have_ to use that to our advantage."

"You've both lost it," Vanna muttered.

"Got a better plan?" Mike asked.

"Yeah," Vanna said. "_Not_ risking your life."

"Quiet, both of you," Will said. "I already said he won't be alone. We just have to make sure Greg _thinks _he is."

He pondered a moment. Soon enough, his face lit up as he remembered something.

"...Might be able to wrangle some inside help," Will said. "And I might have something else we can use. Gimme a moment."

He got up and went to the closet to rummage around. Will shifted some of the uniforms and moved some of the boxes until he found the correct one. He then brought it out for his companions to see.

"Figured these might come in handy someday," he said, setting the box down.

"What are they?" Vanna asked, watching Will wrangle to get the box open.

"Spare parts," Will answered. "Prototypes. Bonnie willed 'em to your mother, but she wanted nothin' to do with this. I took 'em off her hands."

He opened the box and began to rummage around.

"...Took a lot of things off her hands," Will said, sadly.

He started to pull out several smaller boxes, many of them labeled with serial numbers and parts names.

"Can we help?" Vanna asked.

"It's labeled weird," Will said, examining another parts box before setting it down. "I'll know it when I - well, speak of the devil!"

He pulled out a thin, square box.

"Should be four of these," Will said, "and they shouldn't take much to hook up, provided they still work."

"What are they?" Mike asked.

"Better if I show you," Will said.

He carefully opened the box, pulled aside the foam and plastic wrappings, and presented the prototype to Mike and Vanna. Upon seeing it, both of them smirked as they quickly realized what Will was up to.

"Nice," Vanna said, "but how are you going to use them without Greg noticing?"

"Like I said," Will answered. "Got a bit of good will with the staff. Don't worry about it."

He smiled a little as he packed the prototype away again.

"Now we just gotta work out the rest of the details."

Mike took a seat on the desk chair.

"If I'm going to risk my life," he said, "I at _least_ want some good coffee first."

"Later," Vanna said. "Right now, we need to come up with a plan, and _then_ we'll need some sleep."

"Point," Mike said.

"Here," Will said, reaching into his wallet for a twenty. "On me."

Vanna took it with a nod.

"Thanks," she said. "Now let's figure out how we keep Mike alive."


	36. The Watcher

_**06/19/1970 11:36:43pm**_

_The sound of Miss Bonnie's muffled laughter caught its attention. It rose to the top of the box, and lifted the lid only enough to listen._

"_Really, Will! You didn't have to do anything for me!"_"_It's what he would've wanted," came Will's voice, speaking tenderly to her, "for you to be treated right on the best day of your lives."_

_Miss Bonnie's laughter cut short for a second, before it took on a shocked tone._

"_Holy...it's almost as big as my jack-in-the-box!"_

"_Why don't you open it?"_

_That caught Puppet's attention. It pushed the lid up a little more to watch, and saw Miss Bonnie kneeling in front of a large golden present box with a purple bow. Behind her, it picked out a shiny belt buckle and jeans, and assigned them to Will._

Engage watch_learn.

Engage artificial_intelligence.

_The Puppet's programming stalled for a moment as it stared at the golden present, wondering why it sat there, out of its reach._

Engage give_gift.

**ERROR:** Unable to present gift.

_This was inaccurate, and against protocol._

_Was it not _its _job to give gifts? Why was Will doing it?_

_It watched Miss Bonnie tear off the bow and golden paper, revealing a large, white lidded box. Miss Bonnie went quiet again, and covered her mouth. Puppet was unsure if the startled sound she made was happy._

"_...Will…"_

"_S'my name," he said gently. "Don't wear it out."_

_Miss Bonnie pulled off the top of the box. As she set it down, Puppet got a glimpse of the logo on top, and the words, "Booker Teddy Bear Company". It watched as Miss Bonnie stood up so she could reach into the box and retrieve whatever was inside. It saw a shiny purple hat first, then round golden ears attached to a golden head, a purple ribbon around its neck, and a round, massive body. Miss Bonnie made another one of those strange sounds, then held it tightly to her chest._

"_You...oh my god…"_

_She held the bear's head over her shoulder. Long, blubbering sobs forced themselves out of her throat as she fell to her knees, clutching the large bear so tightly that her arms almost disappeared under folds of plush and stuffing._

"_F-Freddy-beeeeeear," she bawled._

_Puppet kept watching her. Parts of its programming activated as Miss Bonnie cried, wanting to reach out to her and help, yet the way she held the large yellow bear indicated joy._

_What was it to do? What was the proper protocol for this situation?_

"_You like it?" Will asked._

_Miss Bonnie just nodded, clinging even tighter to the bear._

"_Found some of Fred's things a while back," Will said. "Also found a memo to call the toy company after you two finalized your robot designs. S'right here, in fact."_

_He reached into his pocket for a small yellow note, and gently handed it to Miss Bonnie._

"_Consider it from him."_

_Puppet's programming stalled again as it watched her, trying to better comprehend the situation as its software sorted out the information it gathered. Its blue LED pupils flashed a few times as it turned to stare at Will, who took no notice._

_It did not like him, it decided. Will took its purpose upon himself, and now he upset Miss Bonnie with his gift. He did not make her smile, as a gift was supposed to do. Yet it noticed Miss Bonnie's nod and the grip she maintained on the "Freddy-bear", both indicating that the gift was indeed very much wanted._

_Puppet watched them for a moment, tuning out their words._

_This wasn't right. It wasn't _Will's _directive to give presents. Will's directive, from what it gathered from Miss Bonnie, was to "handle the finances" and "help with the upkeep."_

_All of this new, confusing information continued to process through its emotional algorithm in the artificial intelligence program, until it finally reached an outcome that made sense._

_Puppet looked away from them, not wanting to watch anymore, or take in any new information._

_And then it ducked back into the box, making a point to slam the lid shut._

_It heard Will's heavy feet lift, then hit the floor as he jumped back in surprise._

"_Bon?" he asked. "What was that?"_

_Miss Bonnie's response was delayed as she composed herself again._

"_What was...? ...Oh," she said._

_Puppet heard her footsteps approach. A soft knock came from the top of the box._

"_Puppet?" she asked, softly._

_Puppet remained in the dark. Its night vision picked up the sides of the box, the empty corners, its attached cross angled against one side._

"_Bon…?"_

"_It's okay, Will," Miss Bonnie said._

_She sniffled a little, then knocked again._

"_Please come out, little one."_

_Once more, it refused._

_How could she ask this after she allowed Will to take its purpose?_

_Miss Bonnie knocked one more time. When it refused to answer again, it heard a creak, and saw a crack of light filtering into the box. Puppet looked up, to see Miss Bonnie's now-shining cheeks and gentle smile. She no longer held the bear. She just simply held the flap up and curled her fingers along the edge of its box._

"_Are you okay, Puppet?"_

_It shook its head._

"_Bon…what's going on?" Will asked, a hesitant note in his voice. " It can't...it doesn't _understand_, does it?"_

_Miss Bonnie didn't look at him. She looked down at Puppet, her soft smile never wavering._

"_Are you mad at me?" she asked._

_Puppet started to nod, then shook its head._

_Both options were correct, and yet both were wrong. It lifted itself up to peek out of the box. Miss Bonnie moved to the side to let it view the room again. Puppet looked at the white teddy bear box, the torn golden paper around it. Its blue LEDs flashed a few times, before it lifted a hand to point to the box. Miss Bonnie looked to where it pointed._

_She quickly realized what was going on, even before Puppet pointed back to itself._

"_...You're right," she said, kneeling down to be more level with her creation. "It's _your _job to give presents."_

_Miss Bonnie reached inside to gently pat its head._

"_It's my fault. I didn't tell him that, and he didn't know."_

_She turned to Will with a smile._

"_Will didn't mean any harm."_

_Will, however, gaped at her, looking between Miss Bonnie and Puppet. Puppet watched him and tilted its head._

"_...It does," he said. "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle, Bon. You finally did it!"_

_Miss Bonnie smiled, then turned back to Puppet._

"_You felt betrayed, didn't you?"_

Betrayed_._

_Puppet added the word to its internal lexicon, and assigned it to the emotional input it felt before. It then nodded to Miss Bonnie._

"_I'm sorry, Puppet," Miss Bonnie said. "Don't be mad at him for my mistake. You're still my gift giver."_

_Puppet processed this for a bit, then nodded._

"_Are you happy again?" she asked._

_The emotional range normalized back to its usual process. Puppet touched her hand and gently gave her a final nod. Miss Bonnie smiled, then leaned down to kiss the top of its head._

"_Get some rest, little one," she said, softly. "We'll resume our usual tests tomorrow."_

_It then crawled back into its box. A small creak followed it, then darkness._

_Though the voices were muffled, Puppet heard Will continue to speak with Miss Bonnie._

"_What an anniversary, eh, Bon? Freddy would've loved to see those results."_"_Yes," Bonnie agreed._

_Some shifting told Puppet she'd picked up the Freddy-bear again._

"_The other two were successes," she said, "but I wanted to create something that can think and interact."_"_And you've outdone yourself," Will said._

_Their footsteps began to retreat towards the door._

"_Why don't we get you home, Bon?" Will asked. "Got a box of chocolate waitin' for you, and a new bottle of bubble bath to go with it. Now those _are _from me. Figured my niece-in-law would need some private time to relax and enjoy herself on her weddin' anniversary 'stead of workin'."_

"_All right," Miss Bonnie agreed. "But I've got to keep working tomorrow. Puppet's come along well so far, but I want to make sure I have all the bugs worked out before October."_

"_You will," Will promised. "Your little nieces are gonna love it."_

_Any further conversation became too muffled to pick out as they left the room_.

* * *

Waylon came out of the office just as Greg finished his work on the animatronics.

"Good, you're just in time," Greg said, wiping his brow.

"For what?" Waylon asked.

"The test run."

Greg reached up to hit the switch on Freddy's neck. He then picked up a small controller, typed in a code on its keypad, and initiated the test.

Freddy powered on. His robotic head and waist turned to look around the room while his arms moved up, down, and circled in their joints before they went back to their default pose. His old eyelids blinked and noticeably moved more smoothly than before, and his ears moved up and down twice. The fingers on his freed hand flexed, and the ones holding the microphone bent in and out one at a time so he could still grip it. Most of all, the little grinds and pops and other little noises that could sometimes be heard from the front seats ran quietly now.

At the end of the test, Freddy stood upright, a warm, lazy expression on his face as he looked out at the empty room like he did before. Even his fur looked a little brighter, having been spot-cleaned and the plush gently smoothed down in some places to look less shabby.

Waylon actually gave him a few slow claps.

"Impressive," he said.

He looked to Chica and Bonnie.

"And you got them working better too?"

"Yep," Greg said, typing something else into the keypad. "I was just about to test them too."

Waylon actually looked a bit excited as Greg activated Bonnie to start his test.

Bonnie moved similarly to Freddy, only the rabbit's bisected ears tilted up and down, and his fingers strummed at his guitar. Soon after, Chica's test included her beak opening as far as it could go, then settling back, and Dulcie's eyes and eyelids moving properly. While all of them had a quick clean done on their suits, her once-dingy yellow _especially_ looked brighter than before now that a few layers of dust had been removed.

Waylon let out a low whistle.

"Gotta say, Greg," he said. "It's a small miracle you created here. Why'd they let you go again?"

"I quit," Greg reminded him. "Show of goodwill for the company."

"Right, right," Waylon said, waving a dismissive hand. "Well, I'm glad to have you back for a little bit."

He glanced to Pirate Cove.

"Think you can work your magic on that one?" he asked, gesturing with his thumb.

"Foxy?" Greg asked, looking over to the little solo stage.

He put a hand to his chin in thought.

"That one was always tricky," he said, "and from its state, I'd probably have to take it apart completely."

He checked his watch. It was almost time to clock in.

"But then I'd be late for work."

"Nevermind then," Waylon said. "The other work you did is great."

"Glad to be of service."

Waylon nodded, pondering a moment.

"I can't pay you," he said, "but have lunch on me. I'll let the cooks know to get you a personal pizza."

"Sounds good," Greg said, wiping his hands on a cloth. "I've already worked up an appetite."

He took one final look at his handiwork, then headed for the bathrooms to clean up real quick.

The preparations made, he was already looking forward to tonight.

* * *

_**07/23/1970 10:07:24pm  
**__  
A slam, and the sound of a key turning in a lock caught its attention. Puppet started to resurface, but stopped when it heard the sounds of desperate footsteps, tearing paper, and small plastic objects being thrown to the ground and crushed. A series of tortured sobs provided the undertone for the destruction. A clink of keys, a padlock falling to the floor, a clink of bottles and the familiar _pop _as one of them was opened._

_Puppet recognized enough of the pitch, timbre, and inflections of the sobs to know them as Miss Bonnie._

_It carefully lifted the lid just enough to peek out. At first, it only saw black and white tiles, with several torn papers littering the floor. It then picked out the work table, and Miss Bonnie's form pacing up and down the room as she tore more papers between taking slugs from the bottle. Her feet stomped on something clear, gray, and plastic, and the entrails of her destruction left long, twisted lengths of thin, shiny black ribbon._

_Puppet stared at the pieces on the floor, knowing them well._

_Miss Bonnie's "cassette tapes," that she used to record the "test" games they played over the last four months._

"_...won't get them," it heard Miss Bonnie mutter. "I w-won't…"_

_She took another long drink from the bottle, following another series of bitter sobs._

"_M-my work," she said. "S-someone…"_

_Another tape became a mangled mess under her foot. More torn papers scattered over the floor. The empty bottle fell on the tile, clinking as it rolled towards one of the shelves. Another strong _pop _followed soon after, then several loud swallows._

_Puppet lifted the lid a little more to look over the edge of its box. It saw Miss Bonnie, her lips trembling as she tilted her head back to drink from the new bottle. Her hair was a mess, dark streaks covered her cheeks, and even her red lips looked smeared. Some of the liquid - "damn good wine," as it heard Miss Bonnie call it once - missed her mouth and dripped down her chin._

_Most days, Miss Bonnie only drank a glass or two. Puppet liked those days, when she poured a glass, put the bottle back into the box under the work table - a "mini fridge," as it learned - and locked it up again. Then they could play the "test" games that Miss Bonnie put on her "tape recorder" and "cassette tapes" for "research purposes."_

_And then there were nights like this, when she drank the wine straight from the bottle, and kept drinking more and more until she couldn't hold the bottle properly._

_The wine made her servos work improperly._

_The wine made her _sad_._

_Yet she'd drink more and more, in hopes of taking the sadness away._

_Puppet never understood this logic. Why would she drink something that made her sad in order to _stop _the sadness?_

_It looked down at the pieces of clear gray plastic winking from the floor. __The wine didn't just make Miss Bonnie sad this time. __It made her _destructive_._

_Puppet looked back up at Miss Bonnie, who swayed as she held the bottle. She seemed to notice Puppet staring at her._

"_L-little one…"_

_She stumbled to the box, falling to her knees as she gripped the edge. Puppet quickly ducked back inside, thinking it might be next at Miss Bonnie's destructive hands. It heard the bottle fall from her hand and hit the floor, a large slosh of liquid spilling out into a large red puddle._

"_I-I-I have to...please. F-forgive me."_

_She gently knocked on the box. Puppet only opened it enough to face her, and watched Miss Bonnie reach up to rub her eyes._

"_I'll h-have to...I n-need to shhhut you down...for a l-little...little while."_

_She picked up the bottle to take a long drink from what remained, then looked back down at Puppet._

"_S-sss-sssomeone...my work," she slurred. "They're trying to ssst-sssteal...I have to protect y-y-you."_

_The bottle fell again, empty now as it clinked_ _onto the floor. A soft sound escaped her throat. Miss Bonnie trembled, but the sound grew stronger, even brighter. Her lips stretched in a wide grin as the sound strengthened into a helpless laugh._

_Puppet tried to determine if this meant she was happy again._

"_Damn it," she muttered. "I sssh-shouldn't be talking to a machine."_

_She laughed harder, before it morphed back into bitter sobs. Upon seeing the shine on her face, Puppet carefully reached for her, moving the tips of its fingers to brush the shine for her._

_Miss Bonnie forced up a smile, then gently put her hand over Puppet's. She sniffled, then wiped her nose on her shoulder._

"_...But you're not...nnn-not just a machine, a-a-are you? I programmed y-you to be...m-mmm-more than that, didn't I?"_

_Seeing her calmer, Puppet ran its hand over her cheek, then moved its arm around her shoulders to pull her into a hug. Miss Bonnie returned it, pulling her creation close to her._

"_I-I-I'm sss-sss-sorry...l-l-little one."_

_Puppet held her in one arm, the other keeping the lid up above them. It rested its head over her shoulder._

_It never noticed Miss Bonnie reach for its neck._

_Not until it felt the power switch activate._

_The video screen blacked out_.

* * *

Broken glass glittered all over the floor as Greg entered the boys' bathroom to clean up. Based on the bent stall, the mini craters in the wall where the mirror used to be, and the scratches on the tile floor, he quickly pieced together the most likely option:

One of them snapped.

Yet as he cleaned and fine-tuned the stage animatronics, Greg found no glass on any of their hands, and their feet looked normal.

That left only two who could have done it.

He quickly left the bathroom, making a quick check for Waylon. With the dining room empty, he presumed the manager went back to his office. A glance at his watch showed it was almost 9am. He had an hour before the place opened.

Greg washed his hands quickly, then pulled down his sleeves, heading back into the dining room. He went straight for Pirate Cove first, throwing back the curtains to take a closer look at Foxy. He grabbed for his keys to get a small penlight to examine Foxy's uncovered hand and hook. The metal endoskeleton showed no scratches, dents, or bits of glass caught in the joints. A quick investigation showed nothing shining in his costume, or at his feet.

That left only one.

With a quick pace, Greg went into the back room, his eyes immediately going to the old animatronic lying on the table. He shone the penlight on Spring Bonnie's hands, lifting one off the table to better examine it.

The fingers, already tattered, torn, and broken in some places, looked even more beat up, especially along the back knuckles. More than that, a few tiny glass shards winked from some of the tears.

"...You still work?" Greg asked, quirking a brow.

Spring Bonnie remained still.

Just as he stepped forward, Greg heard a loud shout echoing from the other side of the building.

"_SCHMIIIIIDT!_"

Greg turned and left the backstage room. He immediately ran over to the boys' bathroom, where he found Waylon purple-faced and fuming. Spittle formed at the manager's mouth as he continued to shout.

"When I get my hands on that useless, good for nothing-"

"Hey."

Waylon jolted out of his fury for a second, before he turned to face Greg.

"Do you _see_ this place?" he screamed, making wild gestures to the broken glass and beat down stall. "My property's destroyed! What the hell happened here?"

"I can't say for sure," Greg said, taking a look over the bathroom, "but I think there was a struggle."

"Schmidt didn't tell you anything?"

"No, but he looked pretty shaken when he left this morning. He couldn't leave fast enough."

Waylon stopped his tirade long enough to process this. He turned back to the stall, at the bent metal and bashing dents embedded in the stall walls. A closer look showed they even had a few knuckle indents in them, like something big and strong punched into the stall.

Knuckles too big to be Schmidt's, with a brute strength impossible for the smaller night guard to match.

Waylon paled a little as he slowly realized the most obvious outcome...and thanked whatever deity was watching that the night guard couldn't sue for liability charges.

"Can't say I blame Schmidt at this point," Greg said. "Heck, he'd probably be _glad_ to be fired at this rate."

"Glad to be…" Waylon started.

That got the gears moving in the manager's mind.

"...Was he hurt?"

"Schmidt?"

"Yes."

"No," Greg said. "He was a bit freaked out, but didn't look like he was in any pain."

"Good," Waylon said.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"I'll...call him. I need someone on nights, and I can't take a risk with someone new right now."

"I could-" Greg started.

"No," Waylon said, firmly. "I don't have anyone who can cover for days. I need you here."

He gestured to the stall.

"See if you can make it look...more presentable. I'm going to get a broom."

"Fine," Greg said, turning away from the manager.

He gritted his teeth as he listened to Waylon's footsteps echo out of the room.

* * *

_**07/28/1970 01:52:04am**_

_Puppet recovered, powering on again. This time, it woke up _not _in its box, but on its back, staring up at the ceiling. It saw the tall edge of one of the shelves above its head. Beside it, a tall green bottle stretched towards the ceiling._

"_Hello, Puppet," came Miss Bonnie's gentle voice. "It's been a few days."_

_It turned to her, watching her with uncertainty. It stayed still as it took her in._

_Compared to the last time it saw her, Miss Bonnie looked normal again. Her black hair was brushed down, some of it hanging over her shoulder. She wore a new red polo shirt, with Fredbear and Spring Bonnie shining from the gold embroidery on her pocket. The light above shone off her red headband. Her lips were the same color as the wine she preferred, and her eyes no longer shone. Every feature looked calm, but sad._

"_It's okay, little one," she said, quietly. "I was drunk and out of control when I shut you down. But I'm not anymore."_

_Puppet slowly pushed itself up, until it sat properly in front of Miss Bonnie, watching her carefully. Miss Bonnie took a long, deep breath._

"_I don't...I'm not usually like that," she assured it._

_Puppet tilted its head questioningly, initially computing the statement as untrue. She liked the wine, and often drank too much of it, as previous assessments determined. A secondary analysis quickly brought in the new variable of the destruction of her work. Upon this realization, Puppet gave a small nod in agreement._

_That _was _unusual for her._

_Miss Bonnie watched it with a small frown. She suddenly looked down at the table._

"_I found out someone was trying to steal my work," she continued, guilt creeping into her tone, "and it...broke me."_

_She frowned as she reached for the green bottle beside her. Puppet watched her cautiously, but a closer inspection deemed the bottle to be empty. Miss Bonnie simply rested a finger over the top of the bottle, tilting it along its bottom in a circle._

"_There's another company that wants my animatronic technology," she muttered. "Afton Robotics."_

_The gentle roll of glass on the work table stopped._

"_I don't have any proof that this is why someone was trying to steal it," she continued, "but I can't think of anyone else who _would _want it. All I know is David Afton is scum, and I want no part of his organization."_

_Miss Bonnie scowled as another thought came to her._

"_I tried to work for them once. They laughed when I said I wanted to assist with the robotics division, and offered me a secretary role. Now that I've got a successful business and bipedal robots that can almost roam autonomously, _suddenly _I'm good enough for them."_

_She took a long, cleansing breath, then turned back to Puppet with a smile._

"_I dodged a bullet with them," Miss Bonnie said. "Their company is struggling while I'm just a few parts and upgrades away from _finally _having Fredbear and Spring Bonnie walking on their own by the end of the year. No more humans wearing them as costumes to help them walk around."_

_Her gaze dropped._

"_But that's not the point. The point is, I found evidence that someone was tampering with my things and trying to get to my research. They were trying to take away what I've done, Puppet. What _we've _done."_

_Puppet's fingers began to curl in, its LED eyes flickering. Its servos hummed in irritation. Miss Bonnie gave it a confirming nod._

"_I know," she said, "but they didn't get past my defenses."_

_She glowered a bit._

"_And I bet that asshole, Afton, is paying someone to snoop."_

_Miss Bonnie's face softened again._

"_When I found my safe tampered with, I...just cracked. Whoever did this got too close, Puppet. I couldn't risk them succeeding, so I…"_

_A sigh._

"_I'd rather my work be destroyed than fall into that bastard's hands. ...You understand, Puppet?"_

_She reached over to touch Puppet's mask. Puppet lifted a hand to place over hers, and gave her a small nod. Miss Bonnie smiled as she pulled her hand away, crossing her arms and leaning them on the work table in front of her._

"_Good."_

_Her smile faded a little._

"_I'm sorry for shutting you down," Miss Bonnie said, softly. "I didn't want you to see me like that, and I needed to be able upgrade you once I got sober again. More than that, I needed to protect you, and my life's work."_

_Her gaze found a small wooden knot on the workbench._

"_And I'm...sorry, that I have more to ask of you," she said, looking back up at her creation. "You are my gift-giver, Puppet. You are also my secret keeper."_

_She gently tapped the Puppet's forehead._

"_I might have destroyed my tapes, but up here, you have a record of all of our test sessions, along with everything you've learned through your artificial intelligence programming, along with some of my more vital files."_

_Miss Bonnie gave it a proud smile._

"_I encrypted them, and locked them away in a separate, hidden drive, so if anyone ever tries to shut you down, hack you, or restart you, your progress will not be lost. It may take time to recover it, but no one else can access that information."_

_Her smile faded again._

"_This is our secret, Puppet. I am sorry you will not be as complete as the other animatronics. You will not have a voice module to communicate like the others can, because your task is to silently watch, listen, and when necessary, take action to protect what Freddy and I built. No one else can know."_

_Miss Bonnie's hands found its cheeks. Her thumbs ran over the purple lines painted down its face. Her voice hitched as she spoke once more._

"_...Do you understand?"_

_Puppet processed this information, then nodded to confirm._

"_Good."_

_Miss Bonnie gently picked up the Puppet._

"_Our dream never died," she whispered, as she carried it over to its box, "and you will keep it alive when I can't. Remember that, little one."_

_The dark comfort of its box greeted the Puppet as Miss Bonnie gently set it back inside._

"_...Please return to your default stasis."_

_On command, Puppet powered down as Miss Bonnie closed the top of the box_


	37. A New Protocol

**Saturday, November 13, 1993**

It took a few hours, but Mike, Will, and Vanna sketched out a plan with a few contingencies in case something went awry. The core goal was mostly to ensure Greg remained after his shift - something Will suspected they would have no problem with, as Andrew Bell was set to return to the day shift soon. Greg wouldn't have another chance like this.

After that, it was a matter of Will keeping him sidetracked until Mike showed up...and once midnight rolled around, they assuredly had help.

None of them truly liked the plan, but Vanna felt more at ease that Mike, at most, would only spend a few minutes alone with Greg if the need arose. Will, she trusted to handle himself. She studied her own role with precision.

Now they all sat in Will's dining room, breakfast dishes pushed aside as they reviewed it one final time.

"Wish Bon's old computer didn't bite it," Will said. "Would make a lot of this easier."

"How so?" Vanna asked.

"It had her software on it. She was paranoid about someone stealin' her work, so if the critters recorded anythin', it's stuck with 'em. I can tune the joints, but only Bon really knew how to work the software."

"Yeah," Vanna said. "That's too bad. Might have been helpful. But we're just going to have to work with what we've got."

Mike nodded in agreement.

They continued hammering out details for some time. Eventually, Will leaned back in his chair.

"Anythin' else we're missin'?" he asked.

"No," Mike said, going over the quick floor plan Will had drawn. "Glad to know there are exits in the kitchen and the back room."

"Gonna have to finagle the back one," Will said. "Waylon unlocks it for smoke breaks durin' business hours, but I'll make sure it's unlocked before I go in. But you two remember the latch bar. If Greg follows and you get out, you can lock 'im inside from outdoors."

"Right," Vanna said.

She turned to Mike.

"Ready for this?" she asked.

"No."

"Neither am I."

Mike frowned and checked the time.

It was almost 11am.

"We should probably head back," he said. "Vanna and I need to rest and collect a few of our own things. I have a tape recorder in my closet."

Will nodded.

"Gotta make a few calls myself, then pay a visit to Freddy's to set up what I can," he said. "You two run along. We'll rendezvous tonight."

Mike gave him a small salute and stood up.

"Until then," he said.

Vanna joined him.

"Hey, Will?" she said, as she pushed in her chair.

"Yes, Vanna?"

"If we actually pull this off tonight," Vanna said, "...could I possibly come over sometime? It's nice knowing I have other family, and...I want to know more about my aunt and uncle."

Will smiled.

"Got lots more albums to go through, and no one to share 'em with," he said. "In fact, wait here."

He quickly headed downstairs. After several moments, he re-emerged, holding something in his hand.

"Here," he said, handing it to Vanna. "A little somethin' in the meantime."

Vanna reached to take it. Will gave her a few photographs: one of Bonnie in her uniform, kneeling down so she could hug a young Vesper and Vanna, a smaller one of her aunt, mother, sister and herself at a Fredbear birthday, a third photo of Bonnie and Freddy together, and one of the special edition funeral photos. Vanna had another laugh at the last one, and blinked back grateful tears as she smiled at Will.

"Thanks," she said, softly.

"I'll see if I have any duplicates," Will said. "If not, I'll make some copies."

Vanna nodded, then carefully put the pictures in her purse.

"We should get going," Mike said.

She nodded and walked with him to the front door. Vanna sudden stopped on the landing, then perked before dashing down the second set of stairs.

"Vanna, what are you-" Mike started.

"I left something!"

Will started down to follow her.

"What could you have possibly-"

But she was already gone before Will could finish. Both of them heard the door to Will's Fazbear museum open, then shut few seconds later. Will was almost down the stairs when Vanna reemerged, dashing past him and taking the steps two at a time. Her purse swung wildly behind her.

"What did you take?" Will asked, sternly.

"Insurance," Vanna said.

She quickly joined Mike. Will grabbed for her purse, his fingers barely grazing it as Vanna hit the landing. Vanna yanked it behind her to further keep it out of his grasp.

"Thanks for everything, Uncle Will!" she said, cheerfully.

She yanked the front door open.

"Come on, Mike. Let's go."

"Now hold on a-" Will started.

But Vanna had already pulled Mike out the door and to his car. By the time Will reached the front steps, both of them were getting into Mike's car. Will started to follow them, but seemed to think better of it as the engine came to life. He gestured for the two of them to just go, and headed back inside.

Once the front door shut, Will headed back downstairs. Upon first glance, he saw nothing out of place. The trinkets were locked in their glass case, none of the parts had been messed with, all of the art had been accounted for, and the albums were right where they left them before heading upstairs for breakfast.

What could she have _possibly_ taken that quickly that could also fit in her purse?

As his eyes reached the right side of the room, he noticed the open closet, and the parts box shoved hastily inside.

With that mystery solved, Will walked into his adjoining mancave to get the phone, knowing to deal with it later. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. It took two rings for someone to pick up, and when they did, he heard the laughter of children, and the animatronics singing in the background.

"Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, where fantasy and fun come to life," came a young, female voice attempting to hide her boredom. "How can I help you?"

"Hey, Gwen, it's me," Will said. "Listen, when's your next break? I got somethin' to ask you..."

* * *

_**07/30/1970 10:39:19pm**_

_Muffled voices echoed from outside the confines of its box, though it picked up enough to know they were at an unusually loud volume_.

Voice detected.

Engage sound_location.

_Puppet surfaced to the top, and pushed one of the lid flaps just enough to peek outside. With the opening of the lid, its internal microphones better picked up the sound coming from the adjoining room._

"_...already told you, no."_

"_Bon, I'm just asking you to consider it. This could be a good opportunity-"_

"_Not interested," Miss Bonnie hissed. "Why the _hell _are you trying to push Afton Robotics on me, anyway? They burned their bridge. They can clean up the ashes."_

"_Times have changed, Bon," a man said. "They're offering an olive branch. You'll still be able to run this place. They just want to expand operations and work with you to develop new technology."_

"_Then it sounds like they need me more than I need them."_

_Miss Bonnie's familiar footsteps headed for the back room._

"_So far as I'm concerned, they can burn that branch with the bridge," she said. "I have work to do."_

_A second, heavier set of footsteps followed, before they increased in volume near the backstage door. Puppet saw a shadow stretch over the open door as both footsteps stopped. Two forms appeared in the shadow. One, it recognized as Miss Bonnie's silhouette, from her nose and round face to the shape of her hair. The other had a round head with short wisps of hair at the jawline, and a long rectangular shape protruding from the eyes. By their positions in the shadowy outline, Puppet noticed the man had his hands on Miss Bonnie's shoulders. It caught the round shape of Miss Bonnie's breasts, and a similar round shape under them to indicate her crossed arms._

"_Don't shoot the messenger, Bon," the man continued, softly. "Just think of what this means for you. For _us_!"_

_He moved a hand to her cheek._

"_I just want what's best for our future."_

_Miss Bonnie's hands unfolded and knocked the man's hand away from her cheek._

"_Let me make one thing _crystal clear_," she said, one hand going to her hip, with the other sticking a finger in his face. "I'm not interested in Afton Robotics, and I'm _certainly _not interested in_ you_."_

_Her shadowy finger tapped against his chest on those last two words, before her dark form stormed past him, once more heading for the back room. The man's shadow grabbed her hand, stopping her before she could take two steps._

"_It's been four years, Bon!" he protested. "Don't you think it's time to move on to bigger and better things?"_

_Miss Bonnie turned to him and yanked her hand away._

"_Don't you _fucking _dare," she said, her voice gaining more ice with each word. "Everything I have is what Freddy and I built together. _Our _vision, not Afton's. It's all I want, and all I'll _ever _need."_

_The man's shadow stepped towards hers, trying to take her hand again._

"_Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."_

_Miss Bonnie pulled her hand out of his reach before he could try again._

"_Stop," she said. "The only way I want you in my life is if you're working for me, and nothing more. If you can't handle that, then get the _fuck _out of my restaurant."_

"_Bon-"_

"_That's _Mrs. Wickes _to you," she said firmly, her voice shaking._

_She grabbed the rectangular shape and yanked it down, catching the man off-guard. Puppet then realized he wore some sort of headgear as he reached up to get the shape out his eyes. Miss Bonnie turned from him and stormed away._

"_Now get out of my sight while you still have a job," she said.  
__**  
**__Her shadow grew smaller as she stormed towards the backstage room. Puppet watched her physical self replace her shadow self as she stomped inside and slammed the door behind her. At the slam, it ducked back into its box, already fearing her destructive rage. It heard Miss Bonnie quickly twist the lock on the handle to keep the man from following her. From the other side, something loudly knocked._

"_Bon, I'm sorry, okay? Can't we just talk about this?"_

"_Just go away!" Miss Bonnie screamed. "Leave me the hell alone!"_

"_Bon-!"_

"Now, _or you're fired! Get lost before it becomes official!"_

_The knocking stopped, and from behind the door, footsteps slowly faded away. In the lingering silence, Puppet dared to peek out again._

_Miss Bonnie leaned against the closed backstage door, quiet for a long moment. Her mouth moved, but no sounds came out. Something glimmered in her eyes. She reached up to wipe them, then let herself slide down until she was sitting. Long, strange breaths left her lips, and her entire body shuddered._

_Puppet recognized her distress, and slowly pushed one flap open so it could crawl out._

"_Damn him," it heard Miss Bonnie whisper as it freed itself from its strings. "Fucking damn him."_

_It peeked out over the top of the box in time to see her hand move over her eyes to hide them. Puppet quietly pulled itself from its box, then pulled itself across the smooth tile to get to her. Miss Bonnie shook harder as it reached her. Puppet slowly put its arms around her._

_For a long while, Miss Bonnie cried, with shine covering her cheeks as she shifted in her creation's grasp._

"_...It's him," she whispered, after a long while. "No one else mentioned Afton. I...I can't believe this."_

_She wiped her eyes on her shoulder, then reached up to take Puppet's hands._

"_He's fired," she whispered. "I can't…"_

_Miss Bonnie took a long breath and reached into her pocket for her keys. Puppet shifted its view to watch her pull them out. It immediately noticed her thumb over the small, silver key to the mini fridge._

"_...I need to relax," she said. "Get my head together."_

Engage watch_learn.

Engage artificial_intelligence.

_Puppet let go of her then, and snatched the keys from her hand._

_No._

_No more wine._

_Wine made her sad._

_And when she got _too _sad, wine made her destructive._"_Puppet!"_

_Puppet quickly leaped away from her, completely out of her reach. Miss Bonnie struggled to push herself onto her feet to follow it._

"_Give those back!"_

_Another leap, and it landed inside the safety of its box. Puppet quickly analyzed the key ring, and tested one end of the key ring's resiliency. Judging by the sound of her footsteps, Miss Bonnie was almost here. It needed to work quickly to take the mini fridge key._

"_Puppet, _please_!"_

_It threw the key ring out of the box, the keys jingling as they flew towards the other end of the room. Miss Bonnie's shoes skid against the floor as she turned around to follow them. With Miss Bonnie occupied, Puppet used its long arm to dump the mini fridge key into one of the parts boxes on the shelf, where it would take some digging to be recovered._

_It then clung to the edge of its box, watching Miss Bonnie look over the remaining keys on the key ring. Her hands shook as she checked it twice. She looked up and gave a sad, hurt look to her creation._

"_Puppet…"_

_Puppet reached up and pointed to the tear streaks on its face. It then shook its head, and crawled back into its box, pulling the lid closed behind it. Miss Bonnie started to come towards it. Her footsteps stopped, as though she thought better of it._

_Within the box, Puppet recognized the emotion she showed right before it hid itself away again._

_This was something beyond sadness, it knew._

_It _betrayed _her._

_Puppet leaned against one side of its box, processing this information._

_In order to save her, it had to make her sad._

_Yet making her sad went against its protocol as her gift-giver._

_Its servos quieted._

_Its processors continued to compute this revelation._

_She gave it a new protocol two nights ago._

_A protocol to take the steps needed when she was unable to accomplish them herself._

Processing new information.

Updating: personality_test.

Updating: watch_learn.

Updating: artifical_intelligence.

_Keeping her away from the wine allowed it to fall in line with this new command, Puppet realized. But this new protocol conflicted with its primary purpose._

_It made her sad to save her, and allow her own servos to function properly._

_It overrode its primary protocol to do what needed to be done._

_For a long while, it quietly sat in its box, listening to Miss Bonnie's muffled sobs beyond the walls of its home. In time, the sobs faded into lingering silence, leaving only the gentle hum of its own servos._

_Puppet never heard her footsteps quietly approach after an eternity._

_Just the gentle knocks on its lid._

"_Puppet?"_

_It stayed inside, not wanting to face her._

_She knocked again._

"_...Little one?"_

_Once more, it didn't answer._

_It expected her to open the lid to talk to it like she did the day she got the Freddy-bear. Instead, Puppet heard a small _bump _against the box, then the sound of something sliding down beside it_

_._"_...I'm sorry," Miss Bonnie whispered, her voice quiet and shaken._

_Her muffled words told it she had buried her face in her hands._

"_I'm so, so sorry. ...Please give it back."_

_Puppet remained still._

_It listened as Miss Bonnie sobbed again._

_And with that, Puppet let itself go into its default stasis._

* * *

"The _hell_, Vanna?" Mike asked, a bit dumbfounded as he pulled onto the road. "What'd you steal?"

"_Borrowed_," Vanna corrected, "and the less the both of you know, the better."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you need to _trust me_, Mike," Vanna said, firmly, "like I trusted you last night."

She cradled her purse, holding it more tightly than needed. Vanna then looked out the window, solely to avoid his gaze. Mike shot a glance to her, then looked back at the road.

"...I'm fucking _scared,_ Mike," she whispered after a moment.

"I'm scared too, Vanna," Mike said, gently. "I'm just...used to it."

"Which is why I'm not just scared," Vanna told him. "I'm scared _for_ you. You heard what Jeremy said. Greg hurt him badly, and he did it _quickly_. He couldn't…"

Her breath hitched as she moved a hand up over her eyes. Her grip on her purse tightened even more as her shoulders shook. Vanna tried to regain her composure, but the next attempt at words failed in favor of long, silent sobs.

"...He had no one," Vanna managed, after several moments.

She wiped her eyes, and sucked back some snot that threatened to come loose. Vanna yanked open the glove box to look for napkins.

"Neither did Vesper. They were both…"

_The limited space of the box's walls surrounding her. The Puppet's cross under her feet. The hot, humid air that stole moisture and oxygen with every breath. The long, gentle arms around her. The lid's flaps above her that wouldn't open, when they did so before_.

_Before_…

"...Trapped?" Mike finished for her, after a moment of awkward silence.

Vanna shook the memory away, before taking another glance out the window. The sun shone high in the sky now, and the houses they passed grew closer together.

"...Why was Vesper trapped to begin with?" Vanna whispered.

"Come again?"

"Mike," Vanna said, her mind still processing the information, "when Vesper showed me her last moments alive, she said she was able to open the box before she fell asleep. After she woke up...she couldn't anymore"

"Chica said she heard something being moved off of it," Mike said, sharing her realization. "Something heavy."

"But what in that place could _possibly_ be heavy enough to-?"

Vanna stopped short as she realized she just answered her own question.

There was only one thing heavy enough at the time _to_ weigh it down.

"...Chica was on the table," she said quietly. "After my accident…"

She recalled that vision in the bathroom, where Spring Bonnie's trembling form momentarily become new again, sitting silent and still in the dark.

Mike quickly picked up on it.

"...They needed a place to put Spring Bonnie."

Vanna went silent, still staring out the window.

"...It was my fault," she whispered.

Mike pulled over and hit the brakes. Both of them jolted forward. After a moment to gather their bearings, Mike turned to her.

"What? Vanna, do you _hear yourself_?"

"Damn it, Mike! _Drive_!"

"How can you even say that? You were five!"

"Four," Vanna corrected, "and I wasn't supposed to be on that stage to begin with. I knew better."

She turned to him.

"If I hadn't gone up there, I wouldn't have knocked the damn cake down, and then Spring Bonnie wouldn't have tripped, and Vesper could have gotten out! How is that _not_ my fault?"

"If you're going to go there, then Vesper shouldn't have been in the box to begin with," Mike said.

He immediately regretted saying it, not for the well-deserved slap that followed, but the insinuation that came with it, that Vesper caused her own death. Mike reached up to rub his cheek. In the corner of his eye, he caught Vanna trembling, her face buried in her hands.

"...Vanna…"

"Don't," Vanna whispered. "Just don't."

Mike gave her a moment.

"...I'm sorry," he said, his cheek still stinging. "All I meant is you were little kids. You did what little kids do. They get curious, and then they get into trouble."

He gently rested a hand on her shoulder.

"What happened was an accident."

Vanna took a few more minutes to compose herself.

"...I know," she whispered, after a time. "Logically, I know that. But I can't...I feel that if I hadn't…"

"You wish you could have done more," Mike said, softly. "I know what that's like."

Vanna remembered the napkins, and dug into the glovebox again. Upon finding one, she wiped her face and blew her nose.

"Y-yeah." She managed a ghost of a smile. "But we _can_ do something now."

Mike smiled back, then checked the road. As soon as he was clear, he eased back onto it.

"And we will," he promised.

Vanna gave him a moment before she spoke up again.

"Mike."

"Yes?"

She took a quick, cleansing breath before taking the plunge.

"...Do you trust me?"

Mike took a moment to let her words sink in as he took a turn. Around them, the houses became shops and office buildings

"...Yes," he conceded.

Mike halted the car for a red light, then turned to Vanna to look her in the eyes.

"You trusted me with your life. I'm going to trust you with mine."

Vanna managed a brief smile just as the light turned green again. She gave him a moment, then set her hand on his.

"...He's already taken both of our best friends," she whispered. "Like hell I'm going to let him do it again."


	38. Unfixable

_**07/31/1970 02:48:23am**_

_The top of the box creaked open. Puppet heard a familiar _

click _as the outdoor light shone into its box._"_Today is...Friday, July 31, 1970," came Miss Bonnie's gentle voice. "I had an unexpected discovery with my Protocol Unit for Personality Performance Engagement Test, or P.U.P.P.E.T."_

_Puppet refused to look at her. It simply stared ahead, only taking in the blue-green wall and its marionette cross angled against the back._

"_I recently gave it an update," Miss Bonnie continued._

_She made no attempt to touch it, or get its attention as she spoke._

"_P.U.P.P.E.T. is far more capable than I initially thought. Over the last few months, I watched it learn and apply its gained knowledge to tested situations. It is aware of its purpose as a gift-giver, and defends that status with diligence. It has learned to read emotional cues, and act in accordance with them. And...last night…"_

_Puppet turned its head only slightly, a small movement to indicate it was listening._

"_...It exceeded my own expectations."_

_Miss Bonnie paused. Puppet slowly processed her words, then tilted its head up towards the open gap. The back room light poured into the box, some of it blocked by Miss Bonnie's form. One of her hands clung to the edge of the box. The other held the tape recorder. Even with the shadows over her face, it picked up the forced, tightened smile on her lips._

"_The upgrade I gave it was to...to ensure the security of my work, and my establishment," Miss Bonnie said, quietly. "I was not...emotionally well last night. P.U.P.P.E.T. recognized I was not in my right mind, and enacted preventative measures without hesitation."_

_Miss Bonnie reached for Puppet, and gently ran a hand over its cheek._

"_It did what was necessary," she continued. "...Even if it meant working against _me_, the one who gave it life."_

_Her smile loosened, becoming more sincere._

"_I know, without a doubt, that P.U.P.P.E.T. is my greatest success."_

_Miss Bonnie tapped a button on the tape recorder. It made another soft _click _as it shut off._"_...Did you get all that, little one?" she asked, quietly._

_Puppet slowly nodded._

"_Good," Miss Bonnie said, "because you're the only one who has a copy."_

_She opened the tape recorder to show no cassette tape in the dock. Puppet inspected it curiously, then looked back to her._

_Her eyes shone. The shine fell over her cheeks._

_It reached up to touch her face, gently pressing against the soft, springiness of her cheek. Miss Bonnie set her hand over its own, then gripped its fingers tightly._

"_...Thank you," she whispered._

_She let go and gently took its head in her hands, then leaned over to kiss its forehead. Miss Bonnie let it go then._

"_I need to get home," she said. "I'll see you in the morning, little one."_

_Puppet nodded, then watched her go._

_Miss Bonnie reached the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. She then turned to look at it one more time, a contented smile on her lips. She waved, then headed out, gently closing the door behind her._

_Puppet waited until it no longer heard her footsteps before it retreated back into its box._

_It needed to let the emotional algorithm sort itself out again. Puppet reached up to touch its forehead where Miss Bonnie left her kiss. It only ever saw her do that in pictures with her Freddy._

_And in that moment, it knew _just _how much Miss Bonnie treasured it_.

* * *

Gwen hung up the phone, then observed the main room. A birthday party was in progress. Franklin and Judy quickly kept the tables cleared, the drinks refilled, and the pizza coming, while simultaneously maintaining the chaos that a room full of laughing, screaming, running kids that these parties always brought about. Waylon was busting his ass as well, rounding up kids for the next show, making sure the games were in proper working order, and breaking up the inevitable fights that came up.

She kept glancing at her watch, until finally, it showed her a time she longed for:

Break time.

Unable to immediately leave her post, Gwen flagged Waylon down so he could watch the front doors and make sure the right child left with the right adult. As soon as she was free, Gwen made her way to the back room.

It remained shut during business hours, which suited her fine. She went inside and shut the door, before she retrieved her purse from underneath one of the spare Chica heads, where a wandering guest would never see it. Above her, she heard the camera whir. She lifted a dark hand to wave at Greg, then smiled. The little red light went off, indicating that the day shift guard probably went back to observing the birthday party.

Shouldering her purse, Gwen walked to the back of the room, to a small gap between the furthest shelves. Out of sight of the camera was the exit door, often overshadowed by the surrounding shelves. Waylon kept it locked outside of business hours, but for now, it served as a handy way to get a quick smoke.

A large green truck was parked outside, the bed of it just barely seen around the dumpster. Gwen came over and climbed into the passenger's seat.

"What couldn't you tell me on the phone?" she asked, fishing her cigarette pack from her purse.

Will turned to her.

"I'd rather you not do that in my truck," he said. "I promise, it won't take more'n a moment."

Gwen frowned, but nodded, setting the cigarettes aside for now. She pushed a few microbeads back over her shoulder.

"You know the kids who disappeared here?" Will asked.

"Yeah," Gwen said, giving him a strange look. "One of them was my cousin, remember?"

Will nodded with a frown.

"I know," he said. "S'why I came to you. I think I might have a lead on the one responsible for this mess."

Gwen's heart panged a little.

"You mean...you know what happened?"

"No," Will said softly. "I can't promise anything, but we might have a chance to find out."

He reached down under the seat and pulled out a plastic shopping bag with some small items inside. Will handed it to Gwen.

"That's why I need your help."

Gwen opened the bag to look inside. She found a note sitting on top of a few strange metal objects.

"Why can't _you_ do it?" she asked.

"Because you weren't involved before," Will said. "If they're snoopin' around, they won't pay any attention to you."

Gwen opened the note to read it. After skimming through the first two lines, she quickly realized it was a list of instructions, and more importantly, the purpose of the strange devices Will gave her.

"...What the hell," she whispered, after comprehending its contents.

"Exactly," Will said. "Strange things've been happenin' lately. I gotta hunch somethin' might go down in the next night or two."

"Like what?" Gwen asked.

"That's what I hope to find out," Will said, "and to put a stop to it before anything happens. Call it a feelin' in these old bones that there's trouble afoot."

He made a gesture to the note in her hands.

"I know it's a bit to ask," Will said, "but I need you to do this for me. _Please_."

Gwen read over the note again, the careful instructions Will left for her.

"...Shouldn't Waylon know about this?" she asked.

"You think I would've come to you if I thought he'd listen to me?" Will asked.

"Point."

Will reached to set a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I'm askin' _you_ because I don't know who else I can trust here," he said, quietly. "Please, Gwen. Just trust me on this one."

Gwen bit her lip, then looked over the note again.

"...Okay," she said at last.

She carefully moved the contents of the shopping bag to her purse.

"Thanks," Will said.

He gave her a soft smile.

"Enjoy the rest of your break."

Gwen nodded to him, and slipped out of the car. She pulled out her pack and lit up as she made her way back to the back door, intending to finish the cigarette quickly before heading back inside. She heard the truck's engine fire up, and the heavy tires scrape against the loose cracks of pavement.

As she took her last drag, Gwen watched the green truck pull away. She snuffed the cigarette against the side of the dumpster before tossing the extinguished butt inside it. She then pulled the back door open, heading back into the back room.

When Gwen came back inside, she glanced up at the camera to make sure the little red light was off.

It hardly took a moment to complete her first task. With the camera still off, Gwen hid her purse under a Bonnie head on a different shelf.

One couldn't be too careful when _anyone_ was a suspect.

* * *

_**07/31/1970 01:34:52pm**_

_Most days, Puppet ignored the backstage door opening and closing as employees came in and out for supplies and breaks. None of them ever knocked on the box, and none of them ever called for it like Miss Bonnie did._

_But now, several footsteps and concerned voices entered into its microphones, prompting it to lift the box's lid just enough to peek out._

_Puppet watched the commotion as two humans, one tall and wearing a hat, and the other smaller with red hair, brought in a trembling, shaking yellow rabbit. Red oil dripped from its joints, and moist, choked sounds escaped its throat._

"_Help me get her over here, then set her down!" the taller human exclaimed._

_The voice sounded familiar. Puppet pulled up a file, quickly placing the voice._

_It was the man Miss Bonnie argued with the other night._

_The man's redheaded partner did as instructed._

_They carefully set the rabbit on the floor and helped it lie down. From the angle, its long ears pointed to the box, and its face looked upward. The rabbit twitched and sputtered in a manner unbefitting of its programming. The tall man quickly searched the shelves for a tool. Puppet watched him, trying to get a good look at his face, but the man kept turning his head. When he reached for the shelves, his upper arms covered his face. He finally found what he was looking for, then knelt down beside the rabbit, setting the tool at the base of its neck._

"_What are you doing?" his partner asked._

"_Getting the damn mask off so she can breathe easier, dumbass!" the taller man exclaimed. "Go do something useful, like keeping the kids out. Call an ambulance. _Something!"

_Puppet took in the tool he held as much as it could. The taller man leaned forward, with only the top of his ball cap in view, and the brim hiding his face. As he moved the tool, it made a strange ratcheting sound._

_The redheaded human stood in befuzzlement for a second, then quickly did as he was told, going into the other room to assist. Once he was gone, the taller man used the tool until a small _pop _of release sounded, then repeated the action on the other side. After the second soft _pop_, he carefully pulled off the rabbit's head. He set it aside. Puppet only saw the back shape and the ears now sitting upright, but something else caught its attention._

_Under the rabbit's head, it recognized the plastic shine of Miss Bonnie's favorite red headband and her dark hair._

"_Hold on, Bon," the man said. "I can't loosen the locks, or you'll bleed out."_

_Miss Bonnie tried to say something. Only those wet, horrible sounds and a few starts of words came out._

"_...Like _this_."_

_Puppet caught the change in his tone._

_How he sounded almost..._happy_._

_The man moved the tool in front of her neck, and used it to loosen something else. Something moist coiled back, and the sounds Miss Bonnie made momentarily grew stronger. She sucked in a painful, gargled breath, but coughed out a fountain of the red oil._

"_Should've taken my offer, Bon," he said, simply. "You've got minutes _at best_."_

_Miss Bonnie tried to reach for him. Only another spew of red came out. The darkening pool under her only widened._

_Puppet wasted no time. It dove from its box with a chime, and upon hitting the floor, it took another leap at the man. The tall human never saw it coming as its hard mask slammed into his head, the baseball cap almost a perfect target. His neck audibly snapped back, and he tumbled back, away from Miss Bonnie._

_Puppet ignored him for the moment and quickly turned to Miss Bonnie, attempting to assess how to help her. The red oil covered her neck and chin. Her green eyes were wide and her cheeks shone. She tried to form a word._

"_L...Li…" she managed, before the red oil filled her mouth again. She gagged on it, and another forceful cough spewed it all over Puppet._

_Before Puppet could register this new event, something knocked into it from behind. Puppet's internal camera sputtered as it landed on the hard tile. Streaks of red blocked some of its vision._

"_Cute watchdog," the man said. "It won't save you, Bon."_

_Miss Bonnie's sputtering movements slowed with each remaining spasm. Puppet tried to push itself up, in time to see the man's boot swing at it to knock it under the table. Once more, its camera sputtered upon landing._

_Now, it only saw the man's back as he went over to one of the shelves. He pulled down a white box with a red cross on it. Puppet's internal memory quickly matched it to a file._

Medical aid being given.

Activating standby.

_It could only watch as the man knelt down beside Miss Bonnie, his back still to Puppet. He pulled out several thick pieces of white cloth and began to stash them inside the suit and around Miss Bonnie's neck._

"_I tried the nice way," the man said. "I was a gentleman when you got married, and when he disappeared, I stuck around, waiting for my chance."_

_He wrapped a bit of gauze around her neck, tightening it just hard enough to elicit another painful noise from Miss Bonnie._

"_But you hurt me, Bon. You hurt me real good, and I just can't take it anymore. This place reminds me too much of what I could have had..."_

_Puppet heard the delight creep into his voice._

"_...And I'll tear it down through what you love most."_

_Whatever the man was doing, he wasn't helping. The oil puddle only grew bigger as he worked. Miss Bonnie barely moved anymore._

"_Every parent will fear this place. They'll fear for their children. And if there's any such thing as an afterlife, you'll spend yours finally understanding my pain."_

_Puppet's cameras went out for a moment as it tried to override its system._

Activating bwickes_personal.

**ERROR:** Cannot activate while medical aid is in progress.

Accessing override.

**ERROR:** Cannot activate bwickes_personal.

Access code required.

**Input operator ID:**

**Input access code:**

**ERROR:** Unable to input access code.

AI override attempting to access.

Getting username and access code…

Accessing hidden files…

File found.

**Input operator ID:** fwickes1966**  
Input access code:** OURDREAM_NEVERDIED1967

Would you like to save this username and access code for future use?

Y/N

**Y**

Username and passcode saving…

Username and passcode saved.

Override in process…

_By the time the updates finished, Puppet's screen returned to the camera view. The man now stood over Miss Bonnie, who had gone still. He set the tool down beside her and headed for the door._

_Puppet dragged itself over to Miss Bonnie. She stared up at the ceiling, though something about her face looked different. Before it could take in any detail, the sound of retreating footsteps caught its attention then. It turned around in time to see the man pull his hat down over his eyes as he made his way into the dining room._

_All it ever saw of his face was his wide, triumphant smile._

_Puppet's LED eyes dimmed, then flickered at the man's retreating back._

_It heard his breath hitch, then the start of an attempted sob as he approached his colleagues._

_Miss Bonnie made a soft sound, forcing Puppet to look back at her. It examined her face carefully. Her cheeks shone with tears and the red oil. The oil itself started to congeal and dry. The skin over her endoskeleton looked lighter. Her lips barely moved, until they stopped on a final word never spoken. And her eyes…_

_They looked different, as though something in them slowly faded away._

_Puppet moved its arms around her shoulders and rested its head against hers, helping her in the only way it knew how._

_It waited for her to speak, to move, even for more shine to leave her eyes._

_The only movement it took in was the red oil creeping over the black and white tiles._

_From the dining room, it faintly heard the man talking to his redheaded partner. It only caught a few words here and there, but the grimness in their tones rang clearly._

_Kids stay outside...paramedics...did what I could…_

_Puppet remained still, its arms still tightly wrapped around Miss Bonnie's shoulders. It lifted its head only enough to stare at the red oil pooling around them._

_Oil that once kept Miss Bonnie functioning._

Engage personality_test.

Processing new information.

_She stopped functioning, it realized._

_No matter how tightly it held her, how it tried to make her smile, it couldn't make her function again._

_It couldn't...fix her_.

Activating emotional_algorithm.

Determining factors.

Processing emotional output…

**ERROR:** Unable to determine appropriate output.

Too many competing factors.

Retrying…

**ERROR:** Unable to determine appropriate output.

Too many competing factors.

Retrying…

**ERROR:** Emotional output overload.

Shutting down...


	39. The Journal

_**08/08/1970 06:23:19pm**_

**ERROR:** Improper shutdown detected.

Activating recovery process.

Auto update date and time: 08/08/1970 06:23:19pm

Recovering…

Recovery complete.

Restoration in process.

_The cameras blinked into view once the restoration process finished updating all of its files. Puppet once more found itself looking up at the ceiling in the back room. It stared at the gray ceiling tiles while it tried to recover the last moments before it shut down._

_When it realized Miss Bonnie stopped functioning._

Activating emotional_algorithm.

Determining factors.

Processing emotional output…

_Puppet quickly halted the process to prevent another overload. It took a moment for its AI to override the algorithm, but once it did, it felt…_

_Nothing._

_Puppet tried to play back the last video file before its shutdown, to get a clearer picture._

_The file cut in and out._

_All it saw was Miss Bonnie motionless on the floor, and a strange man's smile._

"_...You awake, little one?"_

_Puppet turned to the source of the voice. It wasn't Miss Bonnie's soft timbre, but a coarser, gruffer tone that it immediately recognized as Will. Will sat in Miss Bonnie's usual place at the work table. It took in his face, his dark skin and brown eyes, his beard that started to gain white flecks, a soft blue hat over his hair._

_It looked away from him to examine the room with only one question on its mind:_

_Where was Miss Bonnie?_

"_Gonna take that as a yes," Will said, quietly. "The place is closed for a time while a few things get sorted out. It's just you'n me right now."_

_Puppet pushed itself up, then stared at Will. It gripped his shoulder to look over him, taking in the back room. The red oil was gone, as was the yellow rabbit. The tiles shone, almost new again with their luster. Its box sat in its corner, untouched in days. All around the work table were rags and bottles of cleaner. The rags held wet, recent red stains._

"_I know you can understand things to an extent," Will said, letting it look around, "but there's somethin' you need to understand now, more than anything."_

_Puppet stopped its examination of the room to look back to him. It crawled down from his shoulders and sat down on the desk. Its arms propped its heavier chest and head up to better face Will._

"_...I found you beside her," Will whispered, once it settled, "after she...I know you tried, but Bon…"_

_He tried not to choke up as he reached for one of Puppet's hands. Will gently set his hand over the three long fingers and curled his own thick fingers around them._

"_...She's not comin' back."_

_Puppet tilted its head in confusion, then looked over at the open door leading into the dining room._

_Even from here, it picked up the silence._

"_I'm sorry, little one," Will said, quietly. "She was…"_

_He paused, trying to put it in terms it would understand._

"_...Broken. Her...internal wiring...was too damaged to repair. She doesn't work anymore."_

_Puppet remained still as it stared at the open door. Gently, it pulled away from Will, then slid itself off the table. The old man let it crawl and slide along the tiles as it quickly pulled itself to the door and peered out of the room._

_Round tables and chairs dotted the room. The stage's purple curtains were closed, the gold glitter shimmering with faint movement from the ventilation. It saw video game cabinets, a glass case of sorts holding strange and colorful things, a small, round Freddy-bear with partially-deflated balloons around its wrists standing beside it._

_But no Miss Bonnie._

_Puppet crawled out of the room, already looking between the tables and ringing a gentle chime to call for her._

_Miss Bonnie said her Freddy was always here. And if _he _was here…_

_Another glance around the room, another chime._

_No one answered._

_Puppet found itself by the glass case, staring at the toys. It recognized a lot of the things behind the glass as Freddy-bears, and Bonnie-rabbits._

_Here, perhaps?_

_It shifted for a better look, and caught something in the glass. A careful tilt of its head better revealed its own reflection: its smiling face, the blue LED eyes glowing from behind the mask, the gentle pucker of red lips, the long tears painted down its cheeks. Puppet gently traced its features in the glass._

_A face like hers.  
_

Our dream never died, _she once told it,_ and you will keep it alive when I can't.

_Puppet glanced over the little trinkets behind the counter, the simple remnants of Miss Bonnie and her Freddy.  
_

Your task is to silently watch, listen, and when necessary, take action to protect what Freddy and I built.

_It pulled away from the counter, and turned to head for the back room. Will was already there behind it. He gently reached down to pick up Puppet._

Remember that, little one.

"_I'm sorry, little one," Will said. His lips trembled with his voice. "But...thank you. For bein' there. At least her last moments were...with someone she cared about, and cared about her."  
_  
No one else can know.

_Puppet leaned over his shoulder. It watched the prize counter shrink as Will carried it into the back room._

"_I know it's gonna to take time to get used to," Will said, gently setting Puppet back in its box, "but when you're ready, we'll continue what she started."_

_Puppet slipped back inside, already better comforted with its familiarity. It held the edge as it glanced up at Will. The old man removed his hat and ran a hand over his coarse, tightly-curled hair. He gripped it for a moment, before he pulled the hat back on. Will took a long breath, then turned back to Puppet._

"_We'll figure things out," he promised. "For now, little one, try to get some rest."_

_Puppet nodded and gently pulled the box closed._

_Normally, it went into its default stasis...but for now, it needed to process its new purpose, and a life without Miss Bonnie_.

* * *

**Saturday, November 13, 1993**

As the day went on, Jeremy tried to rest and settle in. With the suit plugged in and still, it often went into sleep mode, interrupted only when someone entered the back room. Each time, Jeremy tensed and listened for Greg, and only eased when he heard someone else. Then he would watch the ceiling overhead and listen to what went on in the dining room until the suit inevitably re-entered its sleep mode again. He listened to the beeps of the video games, the songs from the show, the children laughing, running, and shouting, and their parents trying to reign them in.

Greg never appeared, not since he worked on the animatronics that morning, and came into the back room to rummage for spare parts. Updates he got from the Fazbear band told him nothing suspicious: Greg simply removed their casings, checked their joints, and cleaned and oiled them. He tightened some bolts, made some adjustments, and fixed some wiring. The parts he took, he used to replace older ones, before spot-cleaning their suits.

So far as Jeremy knew, it was simple routine maintenance with no access to their programming. He still couldn't help but feel Greg had done something to them, and wished he could see for certain. His only condolence was Greg didn't have time to examine him too closely before starting his shift. The man knew the Spring Bonnie suit still worked, and that alone gave him cause for concern.

_What are you up to?_ Jeremy thought.

The question haunted him throughout the day as the suit slept and woke to the atmospheric background noise as the employees came into the back room. One woman in particular, Gwen, came by more often than the others. He heard her moving the animatronic heads and shifting something under them, often to a different place than before.

"Gotta hurry," he heard her mutter to herself on one trip as she pulled something from the shelves. "I probably won't get another chance."

_Another chance for _what_?_ Jeremy wondered.

But he never got an answer.

The day dragged on into evening, where he heard the final birthday party settling down and getting ready to leave, and the staff cleaning up.

In mere hours, he would be alone with Greg.

Even as a ghost, Jeremy's heart sickened with dread at the thought. In the eerie quiet, the suit once more went into sleep mode.

* * *

_**11/13/1993 07:13:53pm**_

_Override complete._

_Auto update date and time: 11/13/1993 07:13:53pm_

_Recovery complete._

_Restoration complete._

Puppet found itself back in its box. Outside, it heard the familiar sound of a small birthday party winding down. It listened carefully for each human, then gently lifted the top of its lid when it felt safe. It peered out into the room, where children played games or colored at the tables. Judy refilled a table's drinks while Franklin made a run around the room to tidy up.

Content at the current normality, Puppet glanced up at the camera above the stage. Its eyes flickered, before it gently slid back into its box. In the back of its mind, it heard quiet sobbing.

_This will end, little one_, the Puppet promised. _The Smiling Man is among us once more. I will take a gift from him and give it to you, so that you and the others will smile once more_.

It found the little ballerina card, and its accompanying sketch.

_Soon, we will right the wrongs of the past_.

The beep of the alarm pulled him from his sleep. Mike slammed down on the button. He groaned as he forced himself up. A glance at the time showed it was 9pm. He rubbed the last dregs of sleep from his eyes and glanced around the room. His work uniform lay in pieces all over the floor, abandoned where he left them.

* * *

Mike slipped out of bed, his feet sinking into the carpet below. He stumbled over to the closet, where his few packed boxes waited for him.

Right. He needed to get that old tape recorder.

At the back of the closet, he saw a bright bit of yellow: his old Chica toy.

Mike pulled the box closer to him and picked up Chica. His hands sank into her waist, where the stuffing shifted from being held. Her plastic eyes held a loving warmth. The plush Dulcie hung onto her arm, though the threads holding him in place were starting to come loose. She was the last gift his parents had given him before the accident, removed from the back of their car. Jeremy found it among his belongings when he moved in with the Fitzgerald family. It inspired that trip long ago. Mike slipped Chica under his arm, her smashed-in plush still familiar. He then turned back to the box.

Jeremy's journal rested on top of the other things he haphazardly threw into it the other day. Mike picked it up, the leather cool in his hands. He ran his fingers over the cover, then gently gripped the edges.

Mike's hands shook as he pulled it open. His throat tightened at the smell of ink and paper. Flashes of his nightmare from his last reading attempt haunted his mind: the brightening eyes in the journal pages, the undiscerned whispers of children, and Spring Bonnie leaning out of the video game cabinet. Yet they no longer held any horror for him.

The spell broken, Mike ran his hand over the pages. Jeremy's permission, the knowledge that he'd never come back to collect his private thoughts, finally allowed him to investigate something so close and so personal. He flipped through the entries, trying to locate November of 1987.

Jeremy's small, meticulous handwriting just as meticulously detailed the most memorable moments of his life. As Mike searched the pages, he caught snippets of those moments: the ceramic scroll with an angel poem he got Moira for Mother's Day that year, with the hope she'd like it. Arranging a test day with one of his professors so he could come to Mike's high school graduation. A weekend that he, Mike, and Ronan took for a camping trip not long after. The stresses of law school making it necessary to take the fall semester off for college. The aftermath of a date with Thomas. Hosting a Halloween horror night with their friends.

Mike smiled a little at Jeremy's detailed recollection of the miscommunication that lead them both to dress as Jason, instead of one of them donning Michael Myers. The smile faded as the next entry went into how Jeremy lost a part-time job. He ran into his manager while on another date with Thomas. Jeremy suspected that was the _true_ reason he was let go...and it was the catalyst that lead him to the last job one he'd ever work.

Mike adjusted himself inside the closet and leaned against the inner wall to be more comfortable. He clutched Chica a little tighter as he braced himself for what he'd find.

_11/8/1987_

_I successfully completed my first night at my new job. It was more trying than I expected. That place Mike and I liked as kids, Freddy Fazbear's, opened a new location. I needed a new part time job, and this one lets me study before going in and weekends off. Or so I thought._

_Truthfully, I'm still shaking from tonight. I told Ma it was just coffee jitters. I'm sitting in my room right now, trying to relax, but I just can't get what happened last night out of my head…_

As Mike read the first entry, he found similar parallels to his own first night:

Strange phone calls at the start of his shift, and wondering if it was just a prank. Having a brief run-in with an animatronic that convinced him to stay in the office. Questioning if what he experienced was for real.

Mike kept reading. Each entry added more horror, from Toy Bonnie coming in to stare, to the broken-down old models that still worked, to the weirdness that was the Mangle. He tensed as Jeremy discussed the mask he wore to keep them out of the office, only to become sadness as his brother discussed the music box, and comfort it brought him at the time.

By the third entry, Jeremy's experiences took a stranger turn.

_11/10/1987_

_Last night's phone call won't leave my mind. Rumors? I know the old place had some incidents. A little girl went missing around there a few years ago, and there were rumors of a golden bear haunting the place even before Mike got bit by an actual one. But something about last night's call bugs me. I forgot to ask for his name again, but the man on the phone brought it up kind of out of nowhere._

_I spoke to Shirley after my shift. She said there was an incident of sorts, but wouldn't go into much detail about it…_

Mike skimmed the rest of the entry. Nothing but a rundown of another terrifying night of the mask and the continuing crusade of fighting them off until 6am, with a brief mention of going to the library later to see what Jeremy could find about the older place.

He turned the page as he recalled that last week at the Fitzgerald house. Jeremy always went straight to bed when he came home, only to arise hours a few hours later for food and study. Mike and Ronan went to their day jobs, while Moira kept house and ran her errands. By the time Mike got home, he only had a small window to see his brother before Jeremy went back to bed to refresh himself for the night shift. In that time, Jeremy occasionally seemed distracted and withdrawn, but Mike always believed him when he said he was fine.

_Just like Vanna believed you at first_, he thought.

Mike bit back the uneasiness of that parallel.

_Jeremy also hid it far better than I ever did_.

Realization dawned on Mike that Jeremy had most of the day to process the horrors of his job, to plan his assurances in advance. He gave no sign that anything was wrong, and even went on a date with Thomas a few hours before his last shift.

Mike understood. Jeremy wanted to protect his family from the weirdness that the night shift at Freddy's always brought with it.

_11/11/1987_

_...leads me to last night. The place is under lockdown - not that I'd leave in the middle of the night anyway, with all those _

_things_ _walking around. But there was an investigation. I keep thinking of what I found at the library, about that accident with the spring suit. All I can think is whatever happened yesterday, it was bad. Someone probably got hurt, or worse, __killed_…

..._usually tells me anything I need to know, but tonight, she waited for me. Shirley said she trusts me, but she suspects something might be going on after hours, and to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. No one's allowed to be here except me..._

His heart ached, knowing the next entry would be the last one. Mike clutched Chica a little tighter as he turned the page.

_11/12/1987_

_...got in early. There was an employee there. He was doing something to Toy Bonnie, I think maybe fixing its jaw. I didn't recognize him, but he had one of those green staff polos on. I remembered what Shirley said last night and asked him what he was doing there just so I could see his nametag. His name is Greg, and he said he was doing routine maintenance. I just nodded and went to the office._

_I was so panicked this morning, I forgot to tell Shirley about it on the way out. I remembered after I got some sleep, though. I've been trying to call her all day, but no one's picking up the phone... _

Mike carefully read those last two paragraphs again. Will said he didn't remember seeing Greg much at the other location, but he did odd jobs. That Greg was still free meant no one else knew he'd been there after hours.

"...He was there before," Mike whispered, "and now we can prove it."

Mike shut the journal and set Chica down, then forced himself to stand. His stomach tightened as he glanced at the shirts hanging before him. Jeremy's words hung in his mind as he pulled out a light blue button-down. Mike got the rest of his fresh clothes from the drawer, and headed for the bathroom to shower and change. He took his time getting ready as he went over the plan again. Instead of fluttering butterflies, a torrent of bats tore at his chest and stomach as he forced his hands to still long enough to shave.

_It's not too late,_ he thought. _You don't have to do this_.

His fingers fumbled over the buttons as he pulled on his shirt, then tried to smooth down the rumpled tie he pulled from yesterday's pants pocket. The remains of Jeremy's watch sat at the edge of the sink, as a small reminder of what they were fighting for.

_He's counting on you,_ Mike reminded himself. _They're _all _counting on you_.

His spine ached as dread rode up and down his vertebrae in a never-ending elevator. The back of his mind brought forth the memory of hiding in that back room to get away from Foxy, of the fear of a larger, stronger monster coming for him.

_Bite it back,_ he told himself, just as he had when he was six. _You're brave._

_Show them you're brave.  
_

Mike gripped the edge of the sink to keep himself standing. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_Michael_.

The voice in his mind wasn't his anymore, but his father's.

_I am proud of you for trying to overcome this on your own_.

Mike let the words from that day sink in. He heard the German accent, the calming tone. He remembered Johan's cologne mingled with cigarettes as that lesson eased some of the fearful torment. The voice in his mind softened to a more feminine timbre as Charlotte Schmidt took her turn to reflect words of comfort:

_It'll be okay, Mikey_.

Mike opened his eyes and looked up, half-expecting to see them in the mirror.

Only his own haunted face stared back, longing and empty. His heart sank as he reached for the glass. They weren't here anymore.

Mike wandered back to his room, and into the closet. He bent down to pick up Chica, the last thing they had given him before the car crash. Mike sat back against the wall and held Chica tightly while he let his mind focus on his parents' words of comfort. He let them briefly bring him back to a time where the world felt right and safe.

Where no murderer waited for him.

Where his brother was still alive, and both of his families were still together.

Both...

Mike tightened his grip on Chica.

Neither Moira nor Ronan Fitzgerald knew what he did these days. Neither of them knew he followed in their son's footsteps to take a night shift at Freddy's, to look for the truth, to risk his life...and he couldn't remember the last thing he told either of them. He last spoke on the phone sometime before Halloween, and last wrote them...an even longer time ago.

Mike closed his eyes and forced in another breath.

Focus, he told himself.

_Breathe_.

You're not alone in this.

You will have friends with you.

They won't let him hurt you.

You can do this. You can _all_ do this.

And after this, you'll go home and tell your foster parents everything.

Calmer now, Mike found himself gently twisting Dulcie in his fingers. The little cupcake threatened to snap off the remainder of its threads. He stopped himself before he separated Chica from her cupcake companion, and slowly pushed himself up.

_But_...

Mike took another long breath and opened the journal back up to the last entry, then to the next page. His hands shook as he quickly wrote down 11/13/1993 followed by a short note detailing what he found out, and what he intended to do tonight. If things went badly…

_They won't, _he told himself. _But just in case…_

He signed his name, and closed the journal before placing it on his bed in clear view of the door. If things went badly, at least their family would know what happened, this time.

A knock at the front door pulled him from his thoughts. Mike quickly set Chica back in the box and raced to answer it.

Vanna stood there with her red coat for once zipped up over her chest. Her purse hung over her shoulder, and in her gloved hands, she held a cardboard tray with two coffees. Her face bore no makeup, not even her favorite purple lipstick. Her long, wavy hair hung freely down her back instead of in its usual ponytail.

"I got the best," Vanna said, as stepped inside. "I got in just before they closed. You'll have just enough time to enjoy it before we go in."

Mike simply nodded his thanks and gestured to the couch to offer her a seat. Vanna sat down and picked up her own cup.

"I still can't believe we're doing this," she muttered, taking a sip.

Mike came over to join her, and took his cup. He smiled a little at the rich flavor. If anything, Vanna made good on his request for a good cup of coffee. He took another sip, then set it down.

"...I had second thoughts," he confessed.

"Then you're not doing this?" Vanna asked.

"No, I still am," Mike said. "I just...needed to make peace with it."

He took another sip of his coffee. Vanna simply nodded.

"...I did too," she said, quietly. "The more I thought about it - and I mean, _really_ thought about it - the more I wanted to take this bastard down. I want justice, and no one else is doing anything about it."

She slugged down a mouthful of coffee.

"Will's right. He fucked up our families. It's kind of fitting that we're the ones who are going to bring his ass down."

Mike nodded.

"You ready?"

"I will be," Vanna said. "I still have something I need to do first."

Mike checked the time. It was a little after 10:42pm.

"Then you should probably get it done," he said.

"After I finish my coffee," Vanna promised.


	40. Preventative Measures

The birthday parties were over by four, leaving guests trickling in and out until close. An unexpected large group filed in just before eight, and stayed until nearly ten. Franklin and Judy started straightening at 9:30pm so they could be out the door within an hour. Gwen assisted.

"What a day," she muttered after the last guest exited the building.

A set of heavy footsteps caught her attention as she swept up cake crumbs.

"Hey, new guy," she said, giving him a weary smile.

"Greg," he said gently. "Heading home?"

"Soon," she told him. "Just getting the worst of it done before Will gets in."

"Why does Waylon have him on the payroll when you do most of his job for him?"

"It's actually cheaper for him to come in for an hour or two than for us to stay here late," Gwen said. "Less overtime pay."

"Figures," Greg said.

"We leave him the dusting, mopping, and wiping down." She swept the cake into a dustpan and threw it away. "Which I'm fine with. This is easier."

Greg smiled.

"I'll hold down the fort until he gets in," he said.

Gwen nodded, and quickly finished up, before heading to the back room to collect her purse. She shot a look to the back corner, then pulled her purse from a different Bonnie head, where it sat since her last break.

_I hope you know what you're doing, Will_, she thought.

Judy joined her a moment later, gathering her own things from their hiding place. They walked into the main room to join Franklin, all of them bidding Greg a polite goodbye before heading out. Greg waved them off, then waited for Waylon to leave the manager's office. The manager came out after a long while, pulling on his sweater coat.

"Make sure the janitor gets in," he muttered as he passed the day guard.

"Will do," Greg promised.

Waylon gave him a token wave goodbye as he headed out.

With his coworkers gone, and Waylon unable to snoop, Greg checked the time: 10:14pm. Certain he only had limited time before Will got in, he immediately went to the back room, flipping the light on as he approached Spring Bonnie.

"I don't know why or how you work," he said, "but I bet Schmidt had a hand in it."

* * *

_Human voice detected._

_Disengaging sleep mode_.

Jeremy blinked awake as the back room's ceiling came into view.

"...know why or how you work," a familiar voice said, "but I bet Schmidt had a hand in it."

Terror coursed through him. Like that last night alive, Jeremy held still, mentally willing the danger to pass by and leave him alone.

_Please go away_.

But Gregory Mortman couldn't hear him, not that it would have mattered. His footsteps came closer.

Jeremy held his metaphorical breath. He could only remain still as the day guard approached him.

_N-not again! Oh, god, he's coming for me!_

* * *

It peeked from its box once it heard the waiters leave, and the day guard's footsteps echoing away from it. Puppet watched Greg go into the back room, its eyes flickering with rage as it watched him. With no one else around to see it, Puppet slipped out of its box. It climbed on top of the prize counter, then reached for the ceiling. The marionette floated until it pushed a ceiling tile up enough to crawl into the space above.

It passed by many toys and stuffed animals, broken crayons and bits of paper - trophies it collected over the years, many of them covered in dust and cobwebs. Puppet ignored these items as it navigated its way to the backstage room.

_Oh, god, he's coming for me! _it heard Jeremy say.

_Stay calm, _Puppet said. _I'm coming_.

It pulled itself closer, keeping its thoughts to itself.

_And this time, I will _not _fail you_.

* * *

Greg loomed over the table, looking down at Spring Bonnie.

_Facial recognition engaged._

_Auto update date and time: 11/13/1993 10:04:34am_

_Uploading known database._

_Searching…_

"I know you work," he said, reaching for the switch on the rabbit's neck. "This is the last time you get in my way, you overgrown cotton ball."

All of time came to a halt as Jeremy realized what Greg was going to do. While not ideal, he preferred being here, in this animatronic form where he could see and feel and think - not like the darkness where he had been trapped before, reliving his last moments of life over and over again.

Was this what happen to people like him?

Was he bound here due to unfinished business?

_Please go away, _Jeremy begged again. _I-I-I don't...I don't w-want to go back on the dark!_

_You will not,_ came a calm, robotic voice. _Try to hold on_.

Wherever it was, Puppet heard him. Jeremy wondered if he actually heard skittering above him on the suit's microphones, or if he simply imagined a skeletal savior coming to his aid.

Greg reached for the switch.

And without a second thought, Jeremy turned to him, looking him dead in the eye as he lifted his hand to grab his wrist.

He took in the day guard's look of shock, savored it, even. Greg's smug mouth no longer smiled. His blue eyes widened, and a panicked breath escaped as he took a step back. Jeremy narrowed the suit's eyes.

This was the face of his murderer, the man who hurt children.

And this time, he saw him _clearly_.

His hand only managed to graze against Greg's arm.

Only a second later, it clattered back against the table.

* * *

_Manual shutdown detected_.  
_  
Auto update date and time: 11/13/1993 10:16:23pm_

_Charge: 100%_

_Powering down_.

* * *

The animatronic moved.

It _moved!_

Greg saw its head turn, its eyelids move, and heard its hand clamor against the work table. More than that, it looked _angry_, like it knew what he was doing.

Like it _remembered_ him.

His heart pounded as the shutdown noise filled the air. When the initial moment of shock wore off, he scowled, pulling his hand away from the switch.

"It's a good thing I was going to shut you down for good," he muttered, circling the table.

Something snagged his leg. Greg caught his balance before he could tumble forward. A glance down showed the trip hazard: an old plug that extended from Spring Bonnie's waist. Immediately, his mind went to Schmidt, and how the night guard came from this room this morning.

"Oh, you clever little punk," Greg muttered. "You figured it out, didn't you, Schmidt?"

That scrawny kid was going to wish he'd never gone exploring. He should have stayed away from here like he did back in '87. Greg reached over and grabbed the plug, yanking it out of the wall. He then flipped through his keys, finding a Swiss army knife. He went through the tools until he found the biggest, sharpest blade.

"Always had the most trouble with the ones Bonnie worked on," he muttered as he sawed away at the cord. "Must be that AI she was working on - that damn Puppet in particular."

A smirk as he finally severed the cord's head.

"Shame Afton Robotics went under. They would've paid a fortune for your servos, but no matter. I'm going to make _sure_ you can't come to the party tonight, and then we'll see who's willing to buy when you're thrown to the scrap heap."

Greg turned to the shelves to go to the toolbox, looking for the right wrench to do the job.

He was only stopped by the sound of the door jingle. Greg shot a glance to Spring Bonnie.

"In time, cotton ball," he muttered, before he headed back into the main room.

Up above Spring Bonnie, one of the ceiling tiles shifted out of place.

* * *

Will arrived on time as he usually did, though he took a detour to the back of the building first. As he promised Mike and Vanna, he got out of his truck just long enough to ensure the back door was unlatched, before he drove around the building. He watched the last of the kitchen staff leave and lock the door. Once they got in their cars and drove away, he undid their work on the latch.

After that, Will pulled into one of the parking spots up front. Waylon was heading out of the building. Will held up a hand in a wave as he passed, and Waylon simply waved him off in acknowledgement before getting into his own car. He then spotted Gwen having a quick smoke several feet from the front entrance.

Will climbed out of his truck, as Gwen snuffed her cigarette and walked towards him.

"It's done," she said, softly.

"Good," Will said. "Anyone left inside?"

"Just Greg," she said, gesturing to the front windows. "I saw him go into the back room a minute ago."

Will nodded.

"Go home and get some rest, Gwen," he said, "and thanks again for your help."

Gwen smiled.

"Not like I have anything to lose," she said.

Will nodded and headed for the front door. It was still unlocked. The door jingle played above him as he stepped inside. Will listened a moment for the day guard, then headed straight for the supply closet.

Greg knew where to find him.

He got to the closet and started to collect his usual supplies. Will heard the footsteps coming from the back room, and kept his suspicions to himself for the moment.

"Running late, old-timer?" he heard Greg call behind him.

"Somethin' like that," Will said. "Roads were a little slick in my part of town. Had to be careful gettin' out."

"Well, I'm glad you made it in," Greg said.

"Not much can keep me away," Will replied. "Pretty sure I mentioned that before."

He pulled out the broom, a rag, and a chemical bottle, before he stepped out of the supply closet.

"I can see that," Greg said, following him. "Even with what happened all those years ago."

Will ignored him, and set the rag and bottle down on the edge of the stage so he could start sweeping. He made sure to at least keep Greg in the corner of his eye. Knowing what he knew now, he didn't trust him at all. Will shot a quick glance to his watch. At almost 10:50pm, he needed to keep Greg occupied for a little while longer.

"Speakin' of," Will said, "you got me thinkin' a bit."

Greg glanced at him.

"About what?" he asked, curiously.

"Old wounds," Will said simply.

"What about them?" Greg asked.

"You asked about that little girl yesterday," Will said, turning to him. "About Bon's niece that just vanished into thin air."

He swept the room of anything Gwen, Judy, and Franklin might have missed on a quick tidy.

"It was a tragedy," Greg said, softly. "And almost a year after Bonnie herself passed."

The broom made a gentle scrape against the tiles.

"Strange you didn't mention her name," Will said.

Greg stepped towards him.

"Whose name?" he asked.

Will gave him a pointed glance.

"The girl's," he said, softly, "seein' as the twins were here all the time."

"It was such a long time ago," Greg told him. "Over twenty years."

"Figured you might remember her and her sister," Will said, turning to look at him, "seein' as you were always tryin' to impress Bon. Her nieces were the reason she worked so hard on this place after she lost Freddy. Easiest way into her heart."

Greg's cheeks turned pink, but only for a few seconds as he cleared his throat.

"I wasn't-"

"If you weren't, you did a piss poor job of hidin' it," Will said, simply. "The whole staff knew."

He moved to the next section of tile.

"I remember things, Greg," he said. "I remember you said some unkind things 'bout Fred not long after Bon started seein' 'im, and she chewed you out for it. I remember you changed, and were kinder to me and folk like us even when she wasn't lookin'. Always respected that."

Will halted the broom and glanced to Greg.

"So I'm just wonderin' when you stopped carin' 'bout what Bon cared about."

"I never stopped caring," Greg said hotly. "Why do you think I stayed so long after she passed? Took the blame for Fredbear breaking so this place could have some scrap of dignity? Came back for pennies just to do work no one else could do?"

He gestured to the animatronics.

"Notice that, Will?" Greg continued. "I cleaned and tuned them after who _knows_ how long they've been neglected, because I wanted to. You've been coming here how long, and never bothered?"

Will looked up at the stage and stared at it for a long while as he realized Greg was right. All of them, Chica in particular, looked newer and brighter. As his eyes went over them, he noticed extra care had been given to Freddy.

It immediately made him more suspicious.

"...This place wears you down after a while," Will said softly, just to keep the conversation civil. "You get..._tired_ of it all."

He made a point to look at Bonnie before he started to sweep again. Will once more turned away from Greg, but kept him in the corner of his eye.

"As for the critters," Will continued, "...you're right. I think it's just...after all that's happened, I don't like gettin' close. Tighten a joint here and there, but otherwise leave 'em be."

"Then why stay?" Greg asked, stepping towards him.

"You already know why I stay," Will said.

Greg frowned as he leaned against the stage. He gave Will a small nod.

"She wouldn't want you here if it causes you pain," he said gently.

"Ain't just me I stay for," Will said.

"Who else is there, Will?" Greg asked, pushing himself from the stage. "They're all dead or disowned."

Will finished sweeping and gathered the dust in a dustpan.

"You're here," he said simply. "Probably for the same reason."

He quickly emptied the dustpan into the trash.

"It was always about Bon, wasn't it?" Willa asked. "I even heard you made sure to be alone by her side when she passed."

Greg gritted his teeth.

"I was trying to _help her!_" he snarled.

Will picked up the broom again as he gave Greg a pointed look.

"All that matters to me," he said, gently, "is she was with someone who truly cared about her in her last moments. The way she passed...wasn't pleasant."

He went back to sweeping.

"But I'm still disappointed that she was the only one in her family you bothered to remember."

Will lifted one of the tablecloths to get a few missed crumbs.

"Will, that's not fair," Greg said, stepping towards him again. "You know I cared about her."

"Enough to do the same for her niece," Will said, simply.

"Of _course_ I did!" Greg said, getting angrier by the moment. "What kind of monster would just leave a child to die alo-"

He paled a moment as he realized what he just said. Will narrowed his eyes at Greg, the broom frozen halfway through a sweep.

"Thought you didn't know what happened to her," he said, coldly.

"I...how did you know?"

"I didn't, 'til now."

Will turned to Greg, narrowing his eyes in fury. His hands shook as he tightened his grip on the broom.

"You killed Vesper," he whispered.

Greg glared at him, his fingers tightening into fists.

"No, I didn't! She was already dying when I found her!"

"Then where is she?" Will demanded. "Where's her body, Gregory? What did you do with it? Why did you hide it?"

Greg simply glared at him as he tensed, then turned his eyes to the floor. He refused to say anything further. Will's remaining composure quickly became righteous fury.

"Is _that_ why you came back, Greg?" he asked. "To finish what you started?"

He stepped toward the day guard. Greg stepped away from him, keeping him in sight. Both men circled each other, each keeping a careful distance, but watching the other's movements.

"Is that why you're interested in that suit?" Will continued, taking a small side step. "To make sure it's got nothin' tied to you?"

Greg looked back up at him with a glare.

"And what the hell could it _possibly_ prove?" he asked. "That suit's been cleaned since then."

Will's knuckles turned white as he gripped the broom.

"There's somethin' you don't want found," he said, "or you wouldn't be so invested in it."

He watched Greg step forward, and took a careful step away, keeping the day guard completely in his sights.

"Always bothered me about Bon's death," Will said. "She maintained 'em constantly solely to prevent that. Only other person who worked on 'em was you, Greg. Kind of makes me wonder if her death really _was_ an accident...and if there's somethin' that got overlooked."

Greg stepped forward and attempted to throw a punch. Will held up the broom to block it.

"You can't prove anything," Greg snarled. "It's your word against mine, old-timer."

He grabbed for the broom. Will swung it quickly to keep it out of his hands, but Greg caught the end of the broom on the upswing. He yanked on the handle, forcing the janitor to stumble forward. The day shift guard rammed a fist into the old man's stomach. Will doubled over in pain. He wrapped his arms tightly around his stomach, trying to soothe the fierce throbbing tearing at his insides. Greg grabbed a nearby chair and brought it down on the older man's head, keeping him down for the moment.

"I've been thinking about what you said too, old-timer," he said, lowering the chair for a moment.

Will simply curled in, clutching his stomach as he groaned in pain.

"Particularly the bit about old wounds bringing people back," Greg said.

He kicked Will's side, just to further ensure he stayed down. The old man let out a weak grunt, but was otherwise quiet save for his pained and heavy breathing.

"I don't think it's coincidence Schmidt's found his way onto the night shift," Greg said, "or that Bonnie's old suit still works, or that you two have gotten chummy enough to trade funny stories about this place."

Will simply groaned in response as Greg took a step towards him.

"But what _is_ coincidence," he said, "is you've both been thorns in my side before, and I left you both alone because it wasn't worth it."

He smirked as he raised the chair again.

"Now it is."

Before he could bring the chair down, something yanked it from his hands and threw it aside. It clattered a few feet away as Greg looked up and behind him in time to see long, thin, striped arms retreat back up into the ceiling. He glared up at the empty tile.

"And of all the thorns, _you're_ the biggest, rag doll," he spat.

There was no point in trying to climb up and follow it. Greg stayed near Will, and simply listened for the skittering above him. If it moved around or tried to open another tile, he would know.

But there was no sound up above him to mark the Puppet's location. None of the ceiling tiles moved, and no chimes rang out. Greg kept watching the ceiling, crouching down to pick up the fallen broom. The Puppet remained up in its hiding place so far as he could tell. Greg stood up again and went under the missing ceiling tile. He carefully pushed the broom up into the hole, waving it a little to get the creature's attention.

Either the Puppet was no longer there, or it wasn't taking the bait. Greg held the broom up for a moment before he pulled it down with a frown. He turned to Will, who started to recover, and had since pulled himself toward the nearest table. The janitor grabbed at a chair in an attempt to stand, only for Greg to march over, ending with a swift kick to Will's side again. Will let out a soft cry as he fell down, falling back into the tile. Greg smirked as he heard another sound from the far end of the room.

The Puppet finally marked its location.

"It seems Bonnie's little watchdog likes you, Will," he said. "That's useful to me."

Another swift kick, this one hitting Will's legs as the old man tried to roll away. Will attempted to say something, but only choked out a few indecipherable syllables as Greg kicked him down again, then listened for the Puppet. The day guard saw something move in the corner of his eye: the corner of the long tablecloth swaying.

"Gotcha."

Greg pulled another chair out of his way, then used one end of the broom to carefully lift up the tablecloth, readying himself for an attack.

He saw nothing under the table.

"What-?"

Greg glanced to either side under the table in hopes of seeing where it went, before he caught the back of the tablecloth swaying.

As if Puppet slipped away on the other side.

He stood up quickly, the broom raised and ready to swing as he peered over the table.

Only chairs and empty tiles greeted him.

Greg glared at the empty space as he clutched the broom handle, holding his breath to listen for the creature. He glanced across the table to Pirate Cove, half-hoping to see the curtains move, knowing there was nowhere else it could go without being seen. As thin as it was, the Puppet's head and chest would prevent it from slipping between the video game cabinets along the wall beside Pirate Cove, and if it tried to go down the west hall or into the back room, he would see it.

Yet the curtains remained still, and he saw no sign of the animatronic going in either direction.

With nowhere else to look, Greg quickly glanced up at the ceiling.

And the moment he did, a pale, smiling face hurtled towards him. A familiar chime rang as its hard mask crashed into his forehead.

_All around the cobbler's bench_.

Greg barely had a second to wonder how it got above him so quickly, before a burst of pain shot over his forehead. His head throbbed as he stumbled back, the broom falling from his hand and smacking into the floor. Dazed and in pain, Greg grabbed for the Puppet, but it slipped like a snake under one of the tables. He growled as he stood up again, his head hazy and throbbing from the prior attack. Greg approached the table the Puppet slid under and shoved it over, knocking over chairs and party hats. In the ruckus, he saw the Puppet skitter under a different table.

"Oh, no you don't, ragdoll," Greg snarled.

He ran over to flip the next table over, but the Puppet had already moved to another one. Behind him, Will started to recover again. The old man crawled for the stage, trying to get behind it and out of Greg's sight. There is a phone in the back room. If he could just get to it…

Will inched towards it, occasionally letting out a pained grunt. He heard another loud crash as Greg shoved another table over, taking several more chairs with it. The muscles in his stomach screamed with every movement, but Will had to get to the back room, lock the door, and call for help.

He heard Greg's footsteps approach. Will turned in time for the other man to grab his collar and yank him back to his feet.

"No more hide-and-seek," Greg hissed.

Will glared and threw a punch, his fist landing hard against Greg's cheekbone. Greg winced in pain and grabbed the old man's wrist, twisting it painfully. Will out let out a cry and tried to yank his hand away.

_All around the cobbler's bench_.

Greg smirked as the Puppet came flying toward him again. Thinking quickly, he utilized Will as a shield. The Puppet simply gripped Will's shoulders as it closed in, utilizing him as springboard to leap over Greg with the grace of a well-trained acrobat. Greg shoved Will forward and turned around to try to catch the Puppet behind him.

It had already moved.

Greg stepped back as he looked up at the ceiling, expecting another aerial attack. Something gripped his ankles and yanked. Greg shouted as he stumbled back, kicking at the thing that ensnared him. His foot connected with the Puppet's mask, leaving a long crack in its forehead.

The Puppet recoiled for a moment, reaching up to touch its mask. Upon finding the crack, its blue LEDs flashed.

_Engage personality_test._

_Processing new information._

_Activating emotional_algorithm._

_Determining factors._

_Processing emotional output._

"...So that's your weak spot," Greg said.

He kicked at the Puppet again, aiming for under its chin. A second kick, and the mask came loose, revealing a black metal plate with two sockets for the LED lights to shine through, and an outline of the mouth to allow the servos to vent. Without the mask, the Puppet's face looked like a dark void save for its glowing blue eyes.

_Miss Bonnie carefully unwrapped the present. She pulled the mask out of the box and held it up for Puppet to see._

"_Do you like it?"_

More than anything, because it was her gift.

_She put it on and secured the hooks._

"_There. You're complete."  
_  
Puppet quickly reached for the mask. Its fingers slid over the crack, hesitating only for a second before it picked it up.

"_It's only fair that the gift-giver receives the first gift."_

She gave it a face like hers.

A wide smile. Red lips. Tear streaks down its face.

She gave it a kiss to show her love.

_This is my face_.

Puppet was incomplete without it.

_Activating emotional_algorithm._

_Determining factors._

_Processing emotional output…_

_**ERROR:**_ _Unable to determine appropriate output._

_Too many competing factors._

_Retrying…_

The floor tiles suddenly zoomed in as its metal endoskeleton face slammed into it. Greg knelt down, keeping his foot on the back of its head as he reached for the switch on its neck.

_Manual shutdown engaged_.

_Shutting down_

...

The mask clattered to the floor as a soft powering down sound echoed throughout the room. With the Puppet no longer a threat to him, Greg stood up. He rubbed his throbbing forehead, wincing a bit as he shook off the residual dizziness. The room around him straightened as his vision cleared.

Nearby, he saw Will barely standing, knees painfully bent, with one arm clenched around his stomach and the other holding onto the edge of the stage for support. Greg charged at him, diving to tackle the old man to the floor. Will went down without a fight, easily collapsing under Greg's weight. The day guard grabbed Will's head and slammed it into the floor to further placate him, relishing that small cry of pain.

"If you know what's good for you, old man," he said, "you'll stay down."

Will didn't move. Content that he had him pacified, Greg lifted Will under his arms and began to drag him away. The old man groaned in pain as his body slid over the tile.

"I never wanted to hurt you, old-timer," Greg said. "I never wanted to hurt Bonnie, either, but something about you Wickes always forces my hand."

He grunted as he pulled Will past the dining room tables.

"Normally I'd make this quick," he said, "but you might be a bit more useful to me alive."

A smirk.

"At least for now."

* * *

Mike checked the time. 11:28pm. As Vanna promised, she left about forty-five minutes ago after finishing her coffee to do whatever it was she needed to do. He frowned as he stared at his watch. She should have been back by now. What was taking her so long?

The phone rang, jolting him from his spot. He stared at it, wondering who the hell would be calling this late at night. Mike quickly walked over to answer it.

"Hey, Mike," came Vanna's soft voice.

"The hell are you doing over there, summoning a demon?"

"Very funny," Vanna said. "I was just letting you know this took a bit longer than expected, but I'm almost done. Go ahead and head down; I'll be right behind you in a few minutes."

"All right," Mike said.

"Oh, and Mike?"

"Yes, Vanna?"

She hesitated a moment, then took a breath.

"Stay safe," she said, quietly.

"I will," Mike promised. "See you at Freddy's."


	41. Spring-Locked

**Saturday, November 13, 1993**

He awoke, shivering with cold. Will remained on the floor for a moment, taking in the hum around him and the chill of the circulating air. After a moment, he pushed himself up, his joints stiff with age and cold and pain. His stomach and sides still ached, and his head throbbed from when Greg slammed him down. Will took another breath as he felt around in the dark for something to pull himself to his feet. He found a metal shelf, the metal even colder than the air around him.

"Dirty son of a devil," he muttered.

Will felt for his pockets. No keys, no pen light, no tools, only his wallet.

Greg ensured he had nothing.

There wasn't much else _to_ do but try to find his way out. Using the shelf as a guide, Will walked around the room - the refrigerator, he figured. He held a hand in front of him to feel for the smooth steel door. All around him, he felt tall pizza trays, with their goods waiting to be baked in the morning. The trays were wrapped in plastic to protect their wares, and shifted around on wheels. No doubt Greg moved them around to make getting out harder.

Will took a moment to gather his bearings. His head throbbed, and he still ached from his tussle with Greg. If anything, the chill dulled pain. He felt the trays around him, and mentally calculated their positions and the orientations of their wheels.

He would need to be careful. Count his steps, and keep account of each tray and how far it went when pushed. More than that, he had to ensure he didn't accidentally trap himself further.

Slow and steady.

Will pulled his coat more tightly around his shoulders. At least Greg left him that.

He didn't have time to lose. Mike and Vanna would be here soon, if they hadn't arrived already. If Greg got one of them alone, he didn't want to think about how well they would fare...or what he'd do to the other when he found them.

* * *

Mike arrived at Freddy's. Like Will, he turned into the back of the building and waited a moment. Only when he saw Vanna's little black Chevy in his rearview mirror did he pull out and head to the front.

The sign still flickered, with Freddy's eyes lingering a little longer than the rest, as usual. Will's truck was parked below it, along with a station wagon he guessed was Greg's. Mike pulled up into a spot as close to the front door as possible. He took a long breath before he exited the car, leaving it unlocked this time.

He felt better as he pocketed his keys, knowing that if it came to it, he wouldn't have to waste precious seconds getting inside.

Mike approached the front door, taking care to peer into the front windows first.

No sign of Greg.

Fine. On to the plan.

Mike unlocked the door and pulled it open, though he didn't step in just yet. If he was right, and that _was_ Greg's car out front, then he shouldn't announce his presence. He took a breath, and carefully stepped over the old rug with the Freddy Fazbear's logo on it, breathing a small sigh of relief that as he suspected, it was something it under the rug that caused the familiar jingle, and not a motion sensor.

The door slowly shut behind him, a design element intended to prevent small guests from slamming it, but currently worked in his favor. For now, Mike listened for Greg, and scanned the dining room for known camera blind spots, for once grateful that the front door, of all things, was one.

"...Will?" he whispered.

Silence.

Mike reached into his pocket and felt along the buttons of the tape recorder until he found the small indented circle. Anything that happened within the next hour, he would have a record of.

And with any luck, Greg would hang himself.

The dining room still empty, Mike stepped back and slammed his foot onto the carpet. If Greg was here, he'd know shortly.

"...Hello?" Mike called.

Just walk a little further. Be natural. Check the room like you're supposed to.

Mike headed for the stage. As he looked over the animatronics, something about them felt off, and more so than usual. Yet Bonnie, Freddy, and Chica stood in their usual poses, ready to sing and play.

Same stances, same expressions, same trademark items held in their hands.

He looked them over again, before he noticed the difference, particularly with Chica noticeably a brighter yellow than before.

Were they..._cleaner_ than usual?

Mike stepped closer, leaning over the stage to get a faint whiff of Bonnie's plush. The strange odor he caught off the animatronic a few nights ago was still there, just fainter now, and mingled with the scent of cleaner.

He couldn't put a finger on why this bothered him. Mike turned to look at the curtains at Pirate Cove. As he did, he caught the present box in the corner of his eye...and the creature hanging over the edge of it.

"Puppet!"

Mike ran over to the box. Puppet's body hung halfway out, its arms scraping the floor. The head had been carefully removed. The back of its costume was torn open, revealing the smooth metal that shaped its torso...and more than that, a closer look showed its servos had been gutted.

He carefully stepped away from the box. Something hard and round slid against his foot. He looked down to see Puppet's mask staring back up at him. A long crack fissured its way over the resin forehead, and one of the small hooks that once held it in place had been bent to the side.

Mike slowly crouched down to pick up the mask, knowing immediately who did this. He remembered what the Fazbear band told him about the night Jeremy died, how Puppet tried to help him.

The bastard remembered, and he took preventative measures.

Now down an ally and more on edge, Mike turned around and ran to the stage, the mask still clutched in his hand. The animatronics' sudden cleanliness now made sense to him.

What better way to get to them right under Waylon's nose?

_What have you done to them, you son of a bitch?_

Mike looked behind him to ensure he was still alone for a moment, before he started up the steps leading up onto the stage. He briefly glanced to his watch to ensure he still had time before midnight.

11:48pm.

Just as Mike cleared the last step, he saw the curtain move in the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing nothing. Before he could investigate any further, something wrapped around his neck and yanked him back.

His feet slipped off the edge of the stage, his body's own weight pulling against his neck as whatever now held him tightened against the bruise. Mike choked on a gasp as his captor strengthened their grip. He found his footing on the tile floor, forced up onto his toes to maintain any semblance of balance. He barely registered the warm flesh under cotton cloth at his throat, and the firmness of a torso at his back.

Mike choked again. The Puppet's mask fell from his hands as he reached to grab his captor's arm in an attempt to relieve further pressure on his neck.

"I don't think you were entirely honest with me earlier, Mr. Schmidt."

Greg tightened his grip. Mike weakly tried to elbow his stomach.

How did he sneak up so quietly?

And where was Will?

Greg let out a small chuckle.

"I think you _do_ know me from somewhere else."

Mike heard the smirk in his voice.

"November 13, 1987," Greg said, coolly. "You came looking for Jeremy Fitzgerald."

Mike saw black shadows begin to creep into the corners of his vision. He wondered if the lights were flickering as they sometimes did. Greg's voice started to sound hollow. With his options running out, Mike tried to stomp down on one of his attacker's feet. Greg groaned and forcibly moved Mike to his side until he held him in a chokehold.

"You should have dropped it, son," he said, bitterly. "But look on the bright side. Tonight, you'll know _exactly_ what happened to Jeremy."

Greg let him go only long enough to slam him face-first into the nearest table. Party hats tumbled over and fell onto the floor, his own hat joining them. Mike's head spun as it smacked against the cloth-covered surface. Pain sung at his temple and cheekbone, where he now certainly sported more bruises. Before he could even take a breath, he felt himself lifted up by his collar. He barely managed to remain on the tips of his toes again.

Dizzy, in pain, and barely balanced, Mike didn't fight him. He simply tried to loosen his tie.

"And the best part?" Greg hissed in his ear.

He forced Mike to look at the stage. Mike twirled on one toe as Greg maneuvered him, barely catching the animatronics before him.

"Your little friends can't interfere like they did with Jeremy," Greg said, coolly.

"Wh-what...did you…?" Mike managed.

"It took a while to disconnect their batteries," Greg said, coolly. "I don't trust their programming. It has a strange way of resetting itself."

He smirked.

"Nice attempt with the new shirt, though. It won't save you."

Mike steadied himself and tried to kick Greg from behind. All he did was throw off his balance as his collar tightened. Greg didn't say another word. He simply threw Mike back into another table, once more knocking the breath out of him.

_Crack_.

Mike felt his head spin again, and a thick gush shoot from his nose, leaving distinct red stains against the pristine white tablecloth.

Fearing Greg might lift him again, Mike didn't fight him, going limp with his arms spread over the table. His fingers weakly gripped the edge. He let his legs cave, as loose as a rag doll's. He felt Greg's strong hand tighten around the back of his neck, the day guard's fingers pressing down on specific pressure points.

Fingers covered in cloth, he noticed.

Gloves.

Greg pressed his hips against his, just enough to ensure he couldn't wriggle away. He leaned over Mike, grabbing one wrist with his free hand. Mike allowed himself only a wince in pain and a desperate gasp for breath.

His tormentor seemed content with merely holding him down and trying to make him blackout. Mike shuddered and choked, no longer able to breathe through his nose. In the corner of his eye, he saw Greg's grin as shadows crawled into the edges of his vision. He lifted his head under the guise of struggle, trying to get a somewhat decent look at the day guard's chest.

He only had one shot at this.

Mike closed his eyes and struggled for another breath.

Now or never.

He let go of the table and shot his free elbow up into Greg's stomach, hooking up against the low edge of his ribs. The sudden lurch from Greg and his loosened grip was all he needed. Mike pressed his hands against the table, bracing himself as he bucked back into Greg, knocking the bigger man off of him.

More blood dropped onto the table. Head throbbing, chest aching, and his vision still starting to clear, Mike choked on a cough as he noticed the chairs in front of him. Without a second thought, he grabbed the back of one and blindly swung it behind him, not caring where he hit Greg so long as it connected.

A painful grunt combined with the forced stop of the chair heralded his success. Mike dropped the chair and broke into a run then, not daring to look behind him. He grabbed at the chairs as he passed them, knocking them down behind him to create as many obstacles as possible.

His feet stumbled. His lungs burned. His head threatened an oncoming migraine as his new bruises ached against the cool air that brushed against his face. Blood still leaked from his nose, trailing down his lips and chin, and onto his shirt.

He had to keep going.

He had to get to the office.

He had to keep Greg distracted and focused on him until Will and Vanna could assist.

As he passed Pirate Cove, a brief thought entered his mind. Of all the nights he would _want_ Foxy to come for him...

Mike shoved the thought back as he booked it down the hall. The lights flickered above him as he ran. On instinct, Mike gave only the quickest of glances behind him for Greg.

The day guard wasn't following.

Mike stumbled into the office, his chest bruised and bursting as he ducked to the side of the door. From the other side of the room, he heard heavy footprints approaching. Only then did Mike realize Greg's plan to try to intercept him from the other side.

He started to stand to get to the right door first, when he heard a familiar sound:

_Scritch-scratch_.

Metal feet picked up into a run. Uncovered metal footsteps pounded into the tile.

Never before had he been glad to hear it.

With a smirk, Mike abandoned his plan to get to the right door and ducked back into the corner beside the left door, getting out of the way.

The lights went out for a few seconds.

Mike heard Greg's footsteps catch up. The lights came back on just as the day shift guard came in through the other door. The look of awed terror on Greg's face was priceless as he faced the creature across the room. What happened next occurred so fast, Mike barely had time to take a breath.

"RRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

A blur of decrepit gold and rusted metal dove into the room. Greg gripped his attacker's shoulders as it charged in, digging his own feet into the floor as he braced himself against Spring Bonnie's speed and weight. His shoes slipped against the tile, and his legs collapsed underneath him. Uneven gold fingers gripped his collar, and lifted the day guard up into the light.

_You are _not _going to hurt him again!_

Whether or not Greg heard it, he clawed at Spring Bonnie's hands, trying to force the animatronic to let go. Mike watched as the day guard's legs kicked at the air, trying to kick at the chest or throw off the rabbit's balance. Spring Bonnie's eyelids turned until they resembled a glare. With another scream, the animatronic shoved Greg back out into the hallway, releasing his grip as he did. The day guard crashed into the wall with a painful groan. A small _thump_ afterward indicated he hit the ground.

The yellow rabbit stood in the right doorway then, blocking the way into the room.

He stood firm, tall and imposing, his bulky form taking up most of the doorway. His one good ear twitched, the gesture almost _daring_ Greg to get up and try again. Mike used the left door frame as a brace to pull himself back onto his shaking legs, still in disbelief at what just happened. He took a moment to catch his breath, and when he found his voice again, the word struggled to fall from his lips.

"...Jeremy…?"

The old robot turned around, the silver discs that formed its eyes catching some of the overhead light. The ghostly pupils gently shone from behind them.

_Didn't I promise I'd always protect you?_

Mike slipped on his shaking legs, and caught a glimpse of his watch on the way down.

11:53pm became 11:54pm.

It wasn't even midnight yet.

"..._How?_" Mike gaped, trying to stand again.

Before Jeremy could answer, Mike saw something move behind the golden rabbit. He quickly pointed to the right door.

"Jeremy!"

Spring Bonnie's head turned in time to see Greg flying towards him. The animatronic crashed to the floor as Greg shifted his weight to pin its chest, then grab for the mask. His fingers dug into the sides as he slammed Spring Bonnie's head down against the floor. Jeremy grabbed for Greg's hands, but with each slam, the video feed sputtered, shifting in and out of white noise.

"Thought I disconnected you," Greg said.

_You did,_ Jeremy said, bitterly. _Puppet had other plans_.

Greg simply slammed Spring Bonnie's head down again. If he heard Jeremy, he made no indication of it.

"Stay _down!_" he screamed.

Mike scrambled to his feet, stumbling over to the desk. He grabbed the desk chair, grunting in pain as he lifted it up.

"Thanks, Schmidt."

Greg maneuvered to grab the chair from Mike on the downswing, then yanked it from his grasp. The night guard fell to the floor, barely catching himself before he could slam into the tiles. Mike tried to get back up onto his feet.

"No!"

The chair came down on Spring Bonnie's mask. The entire endoskeleton flinched, before Greg threw the chair at Mike, the weight of it knocking the night guard down again just as he started to stand. Greg then reached for Spring Bonnie's neck to hit the switch. His fingers caught something sharp as the animatronic struggled, and in turn tore through his glove and drew blood.

Only then did Greg notice that the switch had been broken off, leaving only a sharp metal stub where it used to be.

"No," he whispered.

That goddamn Puppet must have done this. Nothing else could have gotten into that back room. Greg glowered as he grabbed for Spring Bonnie's head again, holding the sides tightly. The bashing from the chair pressed in the rabbit's nose, and its jaw hung a bit wider. Spring Bonnie grabbed for his shoulders.

_Facial recognition match: 96.7%_

_Retrieving files._

Spring Bonnie's grip loosened. The animatronic collapsed as if in a faint. Its facial features returned to their neutral positions.

_Opening…_

Greg warily stared at the fallen animatronic. He carefully moved a hand over its eyes, trying to trigger the motion sensors. Upon gaining no response, he glanced over to Mike, who tried once more to stand. Greg growled, then pushed himself up, springing towards the night guard. Mike yelled in surprise and stumbled forward, only for Greg to catch his ankle.

"Don't think I didn't hear that, Schmidt," Greg said, pulling the night guard back toward him.

Mike's fingers gripped the edge of the left door. He glared and kicked at Greg's face, trying to make him let go while simultaneously pulling his body forward. Greg raised a hand to his now bruised nose, then turned away as Mike kicked again, his shoe now hitting the base of his neck. A horrid cough escaped Greg's throat, and he felt his body start to slide over Spring Bonnie's while Mike tried to pull his ankle from his grip.

Greg ducked as Mike kicked at him again, then caught his other ankle. He pulled himself forward, using his weight to pin the night guard's legs down.

"Jeremy, huh?" he asked, his fingers now gripping Mike's belt.

Mike let go of the door with one hand to bring a fist down on Greg's fingers.

"Let go!" he cried.

Greg grabbed his wrist. He pulled him forward, trying to make the night guard let go of the door frame.

"I don't think so," he said.

Mike barely managed to keep his grip. He shifted his hips and legs, trying to snake them out from under Greg's weight. Greg in turn countered by shifting his weight until he was almost sitting on top of Mike. Mike winced as the tape recorder dug into his leg.

"I don't know how you figured it out, Schmidt," he said, coolly, "but I made a promise that you'd know what happened to Jeremy."

One more good tug, and he had Mike's other wrist ensnared.

"And you'll die, alone and terrified, just like he did."

* * *

_07/31/1970 3:59:04am_

Sound_location activated.

Disengaging standby mode.

Locating guests.  
_  
The familiar door jingle caught her attention. Being after hours, she remained in her place onstage, with her night vision picking up the room in a green overlay. Round tables with six chairs were scattered over the tile floor, with party hats set in front of each chair, waiting for the guests. Across the room, the prize counter caught the outdoor light, shining brightly. A little Fredbear statuette stood beside it, with balloons in his hands ready for the next day's festivities._

_Only her head moved, glancing over towards the door as she took in the footsteps._

_A tall, broad-shouldered man in a baseball cap entered. She watched him calmly head for the back room, barely catching his profile as he passed by. Some rummaging sounds entered her microphones before the man came back, walking in line of sight of the camera. The man now carried a toolbox in one hand, and had a large, rectangular box in the other. He glanced up at the animatronics on stage, looking between the two of them, before settling on her. He walked up, giving the animatronic a clear look at his face._

Facial recognition engaged.

Verifying...

"_Sorry, Bon," he muttered. "Hate to be unoriginal, but this is going to hurt you more than it hurts me."_

Voice print match.

Bringing up profile: Gregory Mortman.

Designation: Mechanic.

After hours authorization: Approved.

_Gregory reached up a hand._

_And soon, Spring Bonnie's camera blacked out._

Maintenance mode activated.

Auto update date and time: 07/31/1970 4:16:35am

Recalibrating spring locks.

Safety_click: Adjusted.

Safety_recoil: Disabled.

Costume_backup_safety: Disabled.

Automatic_springlock_control: Disabled.

Exiting maintenance mode.

Restarting...

* * *

Vanna killed her engine and gave Mike exactly two minutes before exiting her car. Like Mike, she left the doors unlocked, providing a quick getaway opportunity if needed. She did a quick once-over to make sure she had everything she needed, before slipping out of the driver's seat and quietly shutting the door behind her.

She then carefully approached the back entrance and frowned as she saw the padlock there. Vanna checked it anyway. A closer inspection showed it was open, just left to appear locked. With a small smile, Vanna slipped it out of place and set it down on the ground, before she gripped the bar.

It didn't budge.

With a frown and a small grunt, Vanna pushed it up. It gave way a little, but the cold metal meant a bit more jostling to get it open. After what felt like eternity, she lifted it up and slowly pulled the door open. Already, she heard the sounds of a struggle.

_Shit_.

"...has a strange way of resetting itself."

Vanna made sure to quietly close the door behind her to not attract Greg's attention, though the sounds of someone being smacked around both provided her some cover for the door, and made her hurry. Just as she started for the dining room, a shifting sound made her freeze. She stopped, trying to find the source of the sound.

The shifting became a metallic groan. Vanna turned to the table in time to see Spring Bonnie sitting up.

"...Jeremy?" she whispered.

He turned to her, and moved a finger to his lips as his one good ear twitched, picking up sounds. Greg let out a grunt as something hard smacked into him. It was soon followed by the clatter of chairs hitting the tile, and footsteps dashing down the west hall.

Spring Bonnie's animatronic face shifted as he listened, the flickering lights giving his smile a disturbing edge. He quietly slipped from the table and stepped carefully towards the door, until he caught sight of Greg heading for the east hall.

He didn't have much time to waste. Jeremy turned to Vanna.

_Stay here_, he said. _I'm going to help him_.

Vanna nodded, watching as the giant rabbit dashed out of the room. She listened to his metal footsteps echo down the hall.

Unexpected, but this could be useful.

Trusting Mike would be safe and Greg occupied for a moment, Vanna slipped off her coat. The lights flickered again, then went out for a few seconds. Vanna winced, but reminded herself of the building's weirdness. She heard a metallic _creak _and a soft _hiss_ before the lights came back on.

Vanna started to look for the source of the sound when Spring Bonnie's furious animatronic screech rang down from the west hall, just as clearly as if he were standing right beside her. Taking it as a cue, Vanna quickly dug through her purse for the last thing she needed.

She didn't have much time.


	42. Ghosts

**Sunday, November 14, 1993**

A soft glow suddenly lit up the room. After the pitch blackness, even that little glimmer assaulted his eyes. Will held up a hand and looked over at the light. He watched as a little figure began to form: a gray, almost alien being at first, struggling to retain a stable form. Over the course of several minutes, other details began to emerge: a pale blue party dress, long black pigtails, olive-gold skin that lost its lifely hue. The arms and legs were just long and thin enough to feel off. Her fingers were longer than they should have been, with the index and middle fingers starting to merge together, along with her ring and pinkies. Her eyes only held empty sockets, with faint white pinpricks giving their only hint of life.

The sight startled him, and Will jolted back, knocking into a tray behind him. It slid on its wheels and bumped into the wall with a sharp clatter. Will barely caught himself before he could fall to the floor. The ghostly glow remained, and after taking a few deep breaths, he looked over to the ghost again.

His face softened as he recognized her.

"...Vesper?"

The ghost stood in silence for a long moment. Long streaks of tears shone on her face, yet the faintest trace of a smile rested on her lips. She stood patiently with her hands behind her back. Her skirt and hair remained still, even as the cooling vents blew right through her.

The effect unnerved him.

"Mr. Will."

Her voice gave a soft, hollow echo as she spoke.

"...That's me," Will said, seeing his breath mist up in Vesper's light.

He swallowed hard, still trying to accept what he saw before him. Every inch of skin pricked.

"...Have you...have you been here all this time?" he asked.

Vesper nodded.

"Puppet kept me safe," she said, simply.

Her voice held a strange, near-monotone quality to it...not unlike a machine attempting to mimic human speech and emotion.

Will watched her mouth widen in a grin. Chills unrelated to the cool air crawled over his flesh. The little girl's hollow eyes, wide smile, deformed hands, and tear-streaked cheeks reminded him of the marionette in question.

"Why didn't you show yourself before?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I could not, Mr. Will," Vesper explained, her smile fading a little. "Puppet was my vessel."

"Your...vessel?" Will asked, wondering how she knew such a word.

Vesper nodded. She moved her hands from behind her back, and gently played with the hem of her skirt. Her merging fingers tried to separate. Occasionally, she managed to pull a small gap between them.

"When I broke," she said, "my files transferred to Puppet. I became a part of it."

She frowned.

"Puppet does not have a…" Vesper paused to recall the correct terminology, "..._voice module_, so I could not speak."

Will silently pondered this, trying to translate it into terms he better understood.

"So it's like getting a new body," he said, "and being stuck with what it can do."

The little ghost nodded.

"Then...how are you here now, little one?" Will asked, gently.

Vesper's gaze dropped to the floor.

"I could not leave my vessel," she said. "None of us can. Not until they break."

"Until they..."

Will quickly put it together. He got down on one knee to better be level with her.

"Greg broke Puppet?"

Vesper went still, save for her hands fidgeting with her skirt. Ghostly tears trickled down her cheeks as she slowly nodded her head.

"...He hurt us, Mr. Will," she whispered. "That is why I am here."

Will tried to take her hand, but found his own going through hers. Vesper moved her hands to her face, trying to wipe her eyes. Her ghostly whimpers echoed around the refrigerator. Will gave her a moment to get it out, and let her words sink in.

He hurt _us_.

Vesper Belrose disappeared over twenty years ago. Twenty years, trapped in the Puppet's body, seeing, hearing, and feeling everything it did. They watched the world from the confines of the box, waiting for someone to find them as they gradually melded into one being.

A human child, and a robot capable of learning.

Was _this_ how she knew things above a normal child's level? Spoke like a machine? Lost her human eyes and deformed parts of her body in her ghostly form?

Will started to reach for her hand again, but stopped, knowing it would do nothing. He tried a different tactic instead.

"How did you find me?" he asked, when her crying dwindled down a bit.

Vesper wiped her eyes. More tears fell from her cheeks in a constant unending stream.

"...I-I followed you," she said.

She looked up again. Will tried to keep back his uneasiness at looking right into her empty eyes.

"I can...feel people," she said. "Especially when they are stuck in the dark."

Will chose not to dwell on the implication.

"Well, I'm glad you found me," he said, standing up. "I can find my way out now."

Vesper smiled again. She stayed put as Will shifted the trays, now having a better idea of how to get out. After a few minutes of shuffling, he found the refrigerator door. He pushed against it, and felt the resistance.

"Locked," he said, "or stuck."

Vesper stepped up behind him.

"I will go to get help," she said.

"Thanks," Will said, happy enough to be at the exit.

He checked his watch. Vesper's glow allowed him to finally read the hands.

12:02am.

The glow disappeared immediately after.

"...Vesper?"

For several moments, he got no answer. Will pressed against the freezer door again, and tried to shove it open with no luck.

"Vesper?" he called again.

For several moments, he didn't get an answer. Finally, Will heard something heavy being moved on the other side. A few shifts, and a _click_, and the door opened.

The sudden refrigerator light above blinded him as he stepped out of it. Once freed, the door shut behind him. Will turned around to see his savior, but the sudden darkness blinded him. Sounds of a struggle caught his attention. Even from here, he heard Mike yelling, his words inaudible over the thrashing sounds mingling with it. Will tried to follow, but found himself tripping over something in the dark.

His shins and hips hit against something tall, hollow, and metal. A few seconds to catch himself and place that distinct sound told him what Greg used to prop the refrigerator door shut:

Waylon's filing cabinet.

Will turned to the kitchen door, to see it swing back a final time to shut.

In the round kitchen window, he barely caught a glimpse of a red polo with familiar gold embroidery, the yellow threads catching just enough of the hallway light. A small wave of black trailed behind it, giving him just enough to piece it together.

Will's eyes widened. A gasp died on his lips as he stared at the window.

"..._Bon?_"

Before he could decide whether or not it was a hallucination, Vesper appeared beside him. Will barely held back a cry of shock as he gripped his chest.

"I need your help," Vesper said. "Follow me."

Will took a long, deep breath before answering.

"Mike needs mine," he said, heading for the door.

"That is why you need to help me!" Vesper said, getting in front of him. "I know what the Smiling Man did!"

She morphed through the kitchen door. Will pushed it open in time to see her heading for the dining room.

"Thanks, Schmidt!" he heard Greg call.

"No!" Mike screamed.

More thrashing sounds followed.

"Mr. Will!" Vesper said, urgently. "Come on!"

It only took Will a split second to make a choice.

* * *

_**07/31/1970 01:29:07pm**_Costume_protocol engaged.

_Most of her equipment was disabled, but the speakers remained on, gathering information from the birthday party. Several kids laughed and chattered excitedly. A nearby adult shushed them._

"_All right. It's time for the birthday song!"_

_Many of them quieted down as the performance began. While her voice module was disabled, she heard her wearer sing along with Fredbear, and heard their padded feet tapping over the tiles in a dance. Soon after, there were sounds of ripping paper and happy chatters as the birthday girl opened her gifts._

_A new, strange sound suddenly disrupted the party._

_A large _

crack_, followed by a pained, moist gargle. Desperate scratches near the mask. Fredbear suddenly speaking up._

Standby mode disengaged.

Costume_protocol engaged.

Disengaging costume_protocol.

Engaging animatronic_protocol.

Activating internal camera.

_The room came into view as the internal cameras powered on. Several small guests stared at her, while Fredbear moved to get their attention._

"_I-it looks like Bonnie's lost her voice!" he said, cheerfully, but with concern. "Why don't we-why don't we stay at the table and have some cake while our wonderful staff helps her out?"_

_Quick, heavy footsteps came on either side._

"_It's okay, Bon," came a familiar voice_.

Voice print match.

Bringing up profile: Gregory Mortman.

"_Just keep walking."_

Auto update date and time: 07/31/1970 01:34:26pm

Uploading Fredbear_Pizza14062 map.

_They were no longer in the dining room, but the backstage area._

"_Help me get her over here, then set her down!" came Greg's voice._

_The room became a blur as she was turned around and made to sit down. Upon looking down at her golden feet, she saw red oil leaking over the tiles, with a pair of dark slacks and shoes before her. They stepped away from the growing puddle. Soon, she was facing the ceiling as the men pushed her onto her back. Greg got up, and rummaged through one of the shelves, looking for something. As soon as he found it, he straddled her._

Facial recognition engaged.

Auto update date and time: 07/31/1970 01:36:03pm

Uploading known database.

"_What are you doing?" his partner asked._

_Greg looked away from Spring Bonnie to yell his companion._

"_Getting the damn mask off so she can breathe easier, dumbass! Go do something useful, like keeping the kids out. Call an ambulance. _Something!"

_He turned back to his work, his face in full view once more. Spring Bonnie watched as his arms moved. A few ratcheting sounds came onto her microphones. Within a few moments, the cameras cut out as Greg disconnected the mask_.

* * *

_**ERROR:**_ _An unexpected error occured._

_Attempting to retrieve data._

_**ERROR:**_ _Unable to retrieve data._

_Retry-_

* * *

Mike tried to pull his hands from Greg's grip. The dayshift guard held one wrist in each hand, pinning them down on either side of Mike's head. He dug his knees into the night guard's thighs to make it harder to struggle or kick him off.

"Want to know what his last moments were like, kiddo?" Greg asked.

Mike glared, and kept trying to pull his hands free.

"You killed him! You murdered him in cold blood, you son of a bitch!"

Greg just smirked.

"I remember it _quite_ vividly," he said, leaning little closer to Mike's ear. "How he trembled in that costume. How he was _crying_ behind the mask."

"Sh-shut up!"

Greg tightened his grip and shifted his weight to ensure he kept Mike down.

"He tried so hard to be brave," Greg continued. "Kind of like you're doing now. It made it so much sweeter when the springs finally _snapped_."

"S-so you're...gonna put me in that suit," Mike said, narrowing his eyes.

"Once I get it ready," Greg said. "If you're lucky, it'll be quicker for you."

A smirk.

"But I wouldn't count on it. From the way Jeremy begged and cried, I don't doubt you'll do the same."

He moved Mike's wrists over his head and worked to catch them both in one hand again. He then reached up and quickly hit the door switch, blocking the night guard from an easy escape. Mike fought him, trying to get even one of his hands free.

"If you're tr-trying to frame me," Mike said, "g-good fucking luck. I'm too small to fit it properly, genius!"

"I already thought of that," Greg said. "Someone's getting framed, but it's not going to be you. You are quite a bit shorter than Mr. Fitzgerald, I'm afraid. The suit wasn't made for someone your size."

He grabbed Mike's neck, his thumb and middle finger directly over distinct pressure points. Thinking quickly, Mike blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"...Like Bonnie?" he asked. "Bonnie Wickes?"

Greg's fingers started to press into his neck, stopping only because Mike's question caught him off-guard.

"How do you know about her?" he demanded. "How-?"

A loud _SMACK_ filled the room as Greg stumbled forward, letting go of Mike. Mike wasted no time in taking advantage of the confusion to kick him off and move away from Greg. The desk chair crashed to the floor, its wheeled base turning on the tile until it stopped.

Greg pushed himself up, wincing in pain. He turned around, furiously glaring at the right door. His skin paled at what he saw, and the confident arrogance he displayed a moment ago dissipated with it.

He saw the uniform first, dark slacks with a distinct red polo tucked into the waist. Fredbear and Spring Bonnie's faces smiled down at him from the front pocket. An outstretched golden hand reached for him.

Then he saw the angry snarl, the narrowed green eyes that glared down at him, the round cheeks that kept her deceptively young. The office light caught the outline of her straight black hair, and the shine of her favorite plastic red headband.

"...Bonnie?"

She lowered her hand and took a step forward, lingering near the Spring Bonnie suit. She gave it a quick glance, before turning to Greg. Her voice echoed a little as she spoke.

"How _indeed_, Gregory?"


	43. Spring Bonnie

**Sunday, November 14, 1993**

Mike gaped at the sight before him, just as shocked as Greg. He moved a hand to his face, wincing as he thumbed some of the dried blood from his nose to make it slightly easier to breathe. A small noise of pain escaped as he shifted his broken nose. His entire body ached with pain, particularly his face and chest where Greg slammed him into the table, and his legs where the bigger guard weighed him down. The tape recorder dug into his side. His head throbbed as he stared at Bonnie, her features slightly distorted from the pain.

Nearby, Greg backed away in disbelief, until his back met the closed left door. Any words he had died in his throat.

The ghost of Bonnie Wickes stood even taller and more imposing than she did in her pictures. Much like her creation lying on the floor nearby, her dead, golden skin and sunken eyes only made her more intimidating. Spring Bonnie and Fredbear's faces shone almost like a badge of honor at her chest. She kept her glare on Greg, but stayed near the Spring Bonnie suit.

As his head better cleared, Mike briefly recalled how Puppet shut down the night before, when Vesper tried to leave it. Spring Bonnie was shut down now.

Had Bonnie Wickes done the same, only succeeded in leaving her vessel? And what became of Jeremy?

Greg finally choked something out.

"H-how are you-?"

Bonnie took a quick note of Mike. Her anger softened for a moment, before she honed back in on Greg, who pressed himself more tightly against the door.

"I've been here all this time," Bonnie said, "trapped inside my own creation...where _you_ put me."

She pointed an accusing finger at Greg, whose face began to drain until he was almost as pale as Bonnie herself. Mike stayed away from him, curling into the corner near the door switches. He looked back at Bonnie...and suddenly, he understood how she came to be. He kept quiet, wanting neither Bonnie nor Greg's attention on him.

"Bon-" Greg started.

"How many more, Gregory?" she asked, refusing to let him finish.

A small glance at the poster on the wall, at the animatronic band onstage and the cheerful reminder to CELEBRATE!

"All those children," she said, turning back to him, "Jeremy Fitzgerald..."

A thought seemed to come to her.

"...Did you take my Freddy-bear too?"

At her suggestion, the lights above flickered. The three semi-working monitors turned on along with the one Mike normally used, catching the attention of all the room's occupants. Images distorted on their screens, the views randomly cutting in and out between pictures, darkness, and white noise. One of the monitors showed part of a tile floor, the angle of the tiles changing to show the edge of a game cabinet with them. Another remained on white noise, though Mike felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as a familiar sound from it cut in and out.

He recognized the deep distortions from the indecipherable phone call the other night.

The final two monitors only showed eyes, with the images cutting between the dim, black glow and white noise so quickly, the only details anyone picked out was their brown color and faint glow.

Greg's face remained white as he stared at the images on the screen. His breathing tightened as he reached to loosen his tie, before his hand trailed down the thin black cloth and clutched at his chest. His thumb ran along the edge, as if in comfort.

Bonnie Wickes' voice echoed above the white noise.

"What did you do with him, Gregory?" she asked. "Where's my Freddy-bear?"

Greg gaped. He shook his head in lieu of an answer, but his silence said all it needed to. Bonnie glowered at him in the flickering monitor light.

"...He's always been here," Greg snarled, finally regaining some of his composure. "Just as you wanted."

Mike saw a glimmer in Greg's eye, a distinct change in his face.

How he carefully took in details as he looked Bonnie over, and where the light from the monitors fell.

Mike glanced up above him. The door switches were just within reach. Greg still pressed against the door, readying himself to step forward. His bent legs kept his feet a few inches from the door.

"Bonnie…" Greg said, softly.

Taking a breath, Mike carefully slid a leg behind Greg's ankles. He then weakly reached up to smack the left door switch. The heavy metal door slid up with ease. Mike then quickly pulled his leg forward to catch Greg's ankles.

"I can't help but notice there's a wi-aaaah!" Greg cried as he fell back.

As Mike hoped, the larger day shift guard tripped and fell back into the hallway, his head smacking into the door with a metallic _bang_ as it slid up into place. Greg turned on his side as he fell, collapsing into the tile below. Mike quickly hit the switch again to close the door. With a growl, Greg shoved his leg under the door frame as the metal slab came down.

Unlike the other night, when Bonnie attempted this same trick, Greg got his leg in far enough that the door halted just before it could hit, a small alarm ringing as a sensor detected the blockage.

Mike quickly crawled away as a pained grunt echoed on the other side of the door. Beside him, the monitors suddenly shut off. A pair of hands slipped under his shoulders, helping him back onto his feet. Mike accepted the help, and noticed the pale gold hands holding onto him. He turned to see a familiar red polo and a soft, relieved smile. Mike quickly thanked Bonnie, before he turned back to the door.

Greg pulled his foot back as the door began to slide back up.

"Fuck!" Mike screamed.

He pulled away from Bonnie and leapt for the door, his hand outstretched to grab the switch. It would only take a few seconds for Greg to get back onto his feet. And in those same few seconds, he could lock him out.

"Mike, don't-!"

Mike was already halfway there. As his fingers grazed the red door button, a strong hand reached in from the dark hallway, ensnaring his wrist. Greg yanked him down, eliciting a shocked cry from the night guard.

"Nice try, Schmidt."

Mike yanked his hand back and braced his foot against the door frame to prevent Greg from pulling him out into the hall. Behind him, he heard something large being scooped off the floor. In another moment, the desk chair came flying passed him, knocking into Greg. The larger man let go of him, and as soon as the doorway was clear, Mike slammed the button to shut the door.

After taking a moment to compose, he turned to see Bonnie regaining her bearings.

"So this was...your plan," Mike said, softly.

He winced as he spoke, his chest aching from where Greg slammed him earlier. A bit of residual blood leaked from his nose. Mike braced himself and wiped it on his sleeve to breathe a little easier. Bonnie didn't answer as something furiously banged on the window. Both of them jumped as they saw Greg on the other side of the old pane.

"I'll give you this much, girlie," he called through the glass. "You look just like her, and you play a good game."

He narrowed his eyes.

"But you two can't stay in there all night. If the power doesn't go out first, I still have the old man to play with."

Mike glowered, but realized Greg was right. He immediately looked over to the monitors, and powered up the single working one. It wasn't quite 12:20am yet, and the power had already lowered to 92%. Mike shut it off, then turned to Greg.

"So are you g-going...or staying?" Mike called back, ignoring the aches in his chest.

Even so, he struggled to speak, having to pause at times to let the pain subside a bit.

"What do you mean?" Greg asked.

"You can wait there...a-all fucking night, Greg," Mike told him, "but it's gonna...gonna be a while if you d-don't...have Will with you."

He smirked.

"And I on-only need one door shut at a time to...keep you out."

Greg slammed his fist on the window again in sudden fury, as if trying to smash through it. Mike let out a pained laugh. If Foxy couldn't weaken the glass with that hook, there was no way Greg could get through, either. He then gestured to the monitors on the desk, further rubbing it in that he had another advantage over Greg.

"This has been my...l-life the last week: k-keeping creeps like...like _you_ away from me," Mike continued. "I guess I should th-thank you. If the anima...animatronics aren't working...you're the-the only one I have to worry about."

He smirked again.

"Welcome to the-the night shift, asshole."

That got another glare from Greg, but the day guard finally conceded and headed down the hall. Mike turned the cameras back on for a moment and tracked his movements. Greg likely knew the camera blind spots, but he would know the second the day guard moved out of sight. He didn't look up as he spoke to "Bonnie" again.

"Why didn't you...tell me?" Mike asked, wincing more as he spoke.

Greg really did a number on him. Now that he wasn't fighting for his life, he began to feel every bruise, scratch, punch, and wound. His nose, head, and chest in particular pulsed and throbbed as the residual adrenaline wore off. The wind from the fan gently shifted through his hair. Wherever his hat fell off, it could stay.

"You believed it," Vanna said, reaching up to unhook a wire from behind her ear. The moment she did, her voice stopped echoing. "And because you believed it, he believed it too."

She reached behind her to pull off a small voice changer from her belt, and a spare flashlight, setting them both on the desk. This close to her, Mike could see some of the makeup on her hands starting to wipe off.

"It's why I couldn't tell you," Vanna said. "I needed you to be genuine."

Mike nodded as she moved to the right door, stepping carefully so she didn't trip over Spring Bonnie. The rabbit took up a good portion of the office floor, its feet stretching out into the east hall. Vanna frowned and crouched down, grabbing Spring Bonnie's shoulders. With a breath and a heave, she pulled the animatronic up into a sitting position, then quickly dragged it to lean against the left door frame.

"Huh," she mused. "It's lighter than it looks."

With the right door properly unblocked, Vanna retrieved her flashlight and shone the beam down the hall to keep watch. If Greg tried to sneak up through the east hallway, she would know well in advance. Then again, he could probably see the flashlight beam from the dining room and know it was a fruitless effort, at least until the power ran out.

And with the two of them working together, that was a long time coming.

"There's n-no way you did your...makeup that fast," Mike noted.

"Hell no," Vanna said. "I told you I had more to do before I came in."

She ran her fingers through her now-straight hair to better make her point.

"So you were going to...come right in l-looking like your aunt?" Mike asked.

"I figured it'd throw Greg off if he saw me and give us some time," Vanna said, "And it worked, didn't it?"

Mike had to concede her point. Vanna _did_ distract Greg long enough to kick him out of the office. He watched her check the hallway again.

"Nice work with the monitors, by the way," Vanna said. "Almost me threw me off, but it scared Greg pretty badly. He looked like he was having a heart attack."

Mike perked.

"That wasn't me," he said.

Vanna frowned.

"Maybe Vesper did something," she said.

Mike nodded, accepting it for now. There were more important things to focus on.

"What about our other plans?" he asked.

He opened the left door for the moment, as he had eyes on Greg in the dining room. Mike watched the dayshift guard perk at the sound of the door opening, before continuing doing whatever he was doing.

"Well, I knew Plan A was shot as soon as I found Will in the kitchen," Vanna explained, keeping her voice down so it wouldn't echo down the hall. "Speaking of, you should probably try to locate him before Greg does."

Mike nodded and flipped through the camera views quickly, making sure to immediately flip back to Greg before checking another room.

"The kitchen?"

"Greg locked him in the fridge," Vanna explained. "I was headed your way when I saw Vesper. Freaked the shit out of me, but she lead me to him. I had to get him out. Without Puppet, she can't interact with anything."

Mike just nodded, accepting it for now.

"Where did Will go?"

"I don't know," Vanna said. "After I let him out, I came to help you."

She gave a quick glance to Spring Bonnie.

"Anyway, by the sounds of things in the office, not only was Plan B shot too, but Jeremy stopped talking," Vanna continued. "Which meant it was time for Plan C: improvise."

"And it l-looks like that's what we're going to...h-have to keep doing," Mike said. "At least for now."

He checked the cameras, looking for Will.

Nothing backstage except empty heads. Only Greg in the dining room. No audio in the kitchen, and the supply closet was empty. The curtains at Pirate Cove were still shut, and the bathrooms, while potential hiding places, had nothing beyond their entrances. Mike frowned. Out of habit, he went to the stage show. Bonnie and Freddy stared ahead as usual, but Chica seemed to be moving strangely.

Had she somehow powered back on?

He ignored it for now and went back to Cam 1B to check the dining room. Greg now carefully walked towards the camera...meaning he was heading for the stage show. Mike flipped the camera view back to the stage. Chica seemed to be adjusting, but he saw the top of a familiar blue hat just behind her shoulder, and flecks of salt and pepper hair.

Mike quickly flipped back to the dining room, where Greg was still quietly heading toward the stage, picking his way carefully through the tables. His quiet and calculated movements spoke enough of the day guard's suspicion to whatever was moving behind the stage curtain.

"Shit," he whispered, pointing to what he saw on the screen. "Vanna, we have to do something."

Spring Bonnie twitched a bit. Both Mike and Vanna winced as they heard robotic static rattle the insides of their skulls for a moment, just as they had the night before.

"...Jeremy?" Vanna asked.

The static became a long, jarring whine. Both of them braced themselves, knowing it would pass when he powered back on. Mike tried to ignore the dull droning as he kept an eye on Greg. He flipped back to the stage show, where Will was still doing whatever he was doing. He briefly wondered if he should shout down the hall, or if that would only confirm to Greg that Will was nearby.

"Mike."

Mike looked over to Vanna. She handed him the flashlight, then headed for the left door.

"Cover my post."

Before he could get a word out, she ran over to the left door, crouching down as she quickly crawled out into the hallway.

"Vanna!" Mike hissed, keeping his voice down on the off-chance Greg heard it echoing.

But she was already out the door. Spring Bonnie twitched again as the droning became white noise, making Mike shudder from the sudden static and the subsequent irritation. The white noise faded a few seconds later, allowing Mike to realize Vanna's plan. He turned the monitor so he could better see it from the right door, then aimed the flashlight back out into the right hallway. With the dining room view up, and with Greg still moving with finesse, the day guard hadn't noticed the flashlight beam shift from the east hall...which meant he wouldn't suspect one of them left the office.

The robotic droning still echoed in his mind as Mike gave a quick glance to Spring Bonnie. The rabbit rested against the door frame, its silver eyes hollow, its nose and forehead smashed in from Greg's prior chair abuse, its smiling jaw hanging wider than usual. Mike frowned and walked over to Spring Bonnie. He gently gripped the nose, pulling it forward to fix it as much as possible. There were still distinct creases in the cloth, but just that simple act made it look more whole again.

Hopefully, it wouldn't be too much longer when Jeremy powered back on. With his help, Greg wouldn't have a chance against the four of them.

Mike then turned back to the camera. He saw something move in the back of the dining room: Vanna. He watched her rise up from behind one of the tables, carefully lifting one of the party chairs as she did. Greg was no longer in sight, which meant he probably reached the stage.

He heard something hard clatter as he flipped to Cam 1A to check the stage. Sure enough, he saw Greg standing in front of Freddy, with Will more in sight from behind Chica. The janitor held a wrench, and from the way he pulled it away from Freddy, it looked like he'd swung at Greg and missed, knocking it into the bear's head instead.

"Hey, Greg!" he heard Vanna call.

Mike watched Greg turn to look behind him, and quickly switched back to the dining room view, just in time to see Vanna hurl the chair in the direction of the stage.

"Have a seat!"

He didn't care about watching the aftermath, leaving the camera view on the dining room for the moment. Mike immediately shut the right door behind him so Greg couldn't attempt to sneak in from behind, and ran over to the left to watch for his best friend so the second Vanna was home free, he could lock the day guard out. From the dining room, he heard the chair Vanna threw knock into something tall and heavy.

He hoped it hit Greg.

Something large and heavy collapsed, and a loud clamor followed it, immediately accompanied by a man's pained, startled cry. Not long after, he heard a few sets of footsteps running on tile. Mike peered into the west hallway, shining the flashlight down it to look for Vanna. He saw a red polo appear at the end, and then watched her stumble forward as a chair knocked into her, throwing her into the ground.

"Ladies first!" came Greg's mocking retort.

His heavy footsteps started to come towards the west hall.

"_Vanna!_" Mike screamed.

He started to run for her, before the robotic whining that he previously managed to shove to the back of his mind suddenly increased in volume, forming into a wretched, robotic cry. The noise made his head throb with sudden agony, literally blinding him with pain for a moment. Mike screamed and dropped the flashlight as he reached his hands up to cover his ears, not that it helped. The tips of his fingers clawed at his nearby roots for something to grip as he stumbled down on one knee.

From down the hallway, a tortured scream from Vanna told him she felt it too. Above them, the lights flickered more frequently than before.

The noise stopped as quickly as it came. The lights normalized. And with them, the pain subsided.

..._st_..._ill her…_

Mike took a breath and looked behind him, everything else forgotten for a second. Spring Bonnie shifted, the animatronic groping for the edge of the desk.

"...J-Jeremy?" Mike breathed.

..._M...st-still…_

He watched Spring Bonnie pull itself back onto its feet, its head still slumped forward. A crackling sound filled the office.

_I-I-I'm...st-still..._

Spring Bonnie looked up, the ghostly pinpricks now shining from behind the silver discs.

"..._Here!_"

The last word distinctly came from the animatronic's old, decaying voicebox. The sounds of a struggle got Mike's attention as he turned back to the west hallway. He forced himself up onto his feet, his movements pained and stiff. Just as he managed a step, something firm and strong gripped his shoulder, preventing him from getting too far. Mike turned around, to see Spring Bonnie keeping him back.

"Jeremy-!"

But Jeremy didn't answer him. The golden rabbit simply pulled Mike back into the security office and gently shoved the night guard behind him. With a low growl, the animatronic headed out of the room.

* * *

_Power: 72%_

_Auto update date and time: 11/14/1993 12:42:23am_

* * *

Vanna watched as Greg barely managed to duck in time, and cursed under her breath.

She missed.

She fucking _missed_.

Vanna turned for the office as the chair she threw knocked into Freddy, knocking the large animatronic off-balance. Being currently inactive and unable to recalibrate, he swayed and tilted over into Chica, sending her dominoing back into Will, who realized too late what was going on.

"Mr. Will!" cried a young voice. "Look out!"

Both animatronics crashed to the stage floor, with Will crying out in shock. Their combined weight pinned the old man in place. Will struggled to pull himself out from under the heavy robots, but his back and one hand were firmly wedged under them. A pale blue light nearby flickered, then disappeared.

Content Will was trapped for a moment, Greg then set his sights on Vanna. Taking a leaf from her book, he picked up a nearby chair and heaved at her.

"Ladies first!"

Vanna ignored him, her focus solely on getting back to the office. She gasped as something hard and heavy crashed into her spine, sending her careening into the floor. Vanna groaned as she struggled to push herself up. The chair clattered beside her, and just as she got onto her knees, a loud, jarring scream sent her shrieking in sheer agony, the noise threatening to burst from her mind.

She collapsed again. Above, the flickering lights messed with her vision.

By the time the screaming stopped and the lights stabilized, Vanna found herself unable to breathe...due to the strong hands currently wrapped around her neck, the thumbs digging into her larynx.

"This brings back memories," she heard Greg say.

Her vision cleared only enough to pick out the edges of his face, his wild eyes, his lips trembling in fear and fury. She felt his weight over her, with one knee forcibly digging into her stomach and making it even harder to breathe. Vanna clawed at his hands, trying loosen his fingers. Somewhere in the far reaches of the room, she heard Will shout something, but couldn't make it out.

"You look just like her," Greg continued, tightening his grip.

His voice sounded further and further away with each word he spoke.

"So young. So _beautiful_."

She struggled to breathe as she tried to throw him off, but he stayed firm as she tried to wedge her fingers under his. Tears streamed down her face as shadows clouded her vision.

"...Who _are_ you?" Greg demanded. "Why do you look like her?"

As he looked her over, a translucent face appeared over Vanna's.

A young, familiar face, pale and glowing, with empty eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Her lips trembled, and from the back of her sockets shone two bright pinpricks.

"L-leave her alone!" the specter cried. "Leave my sister alone!"

Vanna heard the stunned gasp. His fingers loosened from around her throat. In the distance, she heard metal feet on tile. The echoes of their approach faded in and out. The hands around her neck finally let go. His weight came off of her. With her neck and stomach suddenly released, Vanna sucked in a breath as she collapsed onto the tile.

A blur of gold passed by her, a long ear catching the faint light above. A familiar robotic scream filled her mind and ears as she forced in another breath.

"...B-Bun...ny…"

Vanna tried to push herself up, but found her stomach tight with pain from when Greg pinned her before. She barely managed to push herself up onto her elbows, in time to see Spring Bonnie shove a retreating Greg into one of the tables.

The table crashed to its side as the day guard crumpled into it, sending party hats flying and knocking chairs to the floor. Greg tried to stand, only for the large animatronic to grab his collar in both hands, lifting him up off his feet. His eyes widened as he stared at the yellow face. The eyelids turned to give the animatronic a furious expression, its forehead partially caved in from the office chair attack, its smile widened in almost wicked glee.

Vanna tried to push herself up a little more, only to find a set of hands helping her sit up. She turned and briefly saw Mike behind her. He tilted his head towards the prize counter. Vanna gave him a small nod to confirm the plan, but stole a glance behind her as they crawled to safety.

Vesper's ghost remained where it was, her spectral form hovering about a few feet off the ground to better witness the action before her. The disassembled remains of the Puppet were still scattered over the tiles nearby, its long arms lifelessly dragging outside of its box.

Over near Pirate Cove, Greg kicked at Spring Bonnie's chest, trying to force the animatronic to let him go, but Spring Bonnie held firm. The metal fingers tightened around the murderer's collar, further preventing him from getting away. Greg grabbed the thing's forearms to prevent his own weight from dragging him down. After taking a few seconds to comprehend his situation, he forced up a smirk.

"Y-you wouldn't dare, Fitz...Fitzgerald," he said, pulling up his normal composure between careful breaths. "I saw your eyes when you were...still alive. You don't...have the guts."

Mike and Vanna both peered over the top of the prize counter to see how Jeremy would handle this. From the stage, Will still tried to free himself from underneath the animatronic pile.

Spring Bonnie tilted its head. The old voicebox crackled as it spoke, its jaw creaking with movement at each word.

"J-Jeremy-Jeremy Fitz-g-g-gerald isn't-isn't here right n-n-now," it said.

With each word, the old module cleared up a little more. Spring Bonnie's smile shifted, almost amused. As the voice module gained more use, it took on a distinctly feminine tone.

"B-b-but-but you're going to-going to _wish he was_."


	44. Spring-Trapped

Vanna's eyes widened as she listened to the animatronic speak. Beside her, Mike's horror became forlorn and empty when he realized he no longer heard his brother's faint Irish brogue. The blood in Greg's face drained a little more with every word. It was a voice he knew well, from her living days to the pre-recorded lines that still played after her passing.

"..._Bon?_" he managed. "The _real_ Bon?"

Over on the stage, Will managed to free his other arm from under Chica, and tried to pull himself out from under her. Upon hearing what Greg said, he wriggled out just enough to see over the animatronic pile to witness the scene.

To try to see her.

"In-in-the flesh, s-s-so to speak," crackled the voicebox.

Will bit back a small pang of hurt at hearing Bonnie's voice. He believed Mike and Vanna's earlier claims of the hauntings. Seeing even just Spring Bonnie's head and shoulders from behind the animatronic pile, moving in its decrepit state…

He forced back the thoughts of the old wounds and focused on freeing himself. On top of him, Will felt something shift on its own. The movement encouraged him to keep working on his freedom.

Spring Bonnie's voice box crackled again. It was static and frayed at first, but it gained more clarity with continued use.

"Don't you _ever_ th-thre-e-e-eaten-threaten my niece again."

Greg's eyes slowly widened as he tried to peer over Spring Bonnie's head, tilting his own to see behind the one good ear. He looked down at the spot where he strangled Bonnie Wicke's doppelganger.

The doppelganger was gone, but in her place, a smaller form shifted in and out of view. A little ghost girl in a pale blue party dress and black Mary Janes floated above the tile. Her wavy black hair was done up in pigtails, and her slightly-too-long limbs were strangely positioned, as though suspended by strings. Her partially-morphed hands, empty eyes, furious snarl, and constant stream of tears down her face unnerved him the most, especially the glare she formed.

In another moment, she disappeared.

Greg felt his heart stop when he recognized her, paling as the truth of the first "Bonnie Wickes" dawned on him: that there had been two of them, and one of them got away.

His epiphany was short-lived as the real Bonnie Wickes channeled the entirety of Spring Bonnie's strength to forcefully shake him, then slam him into a nearby wall. Pain spread over the back of Greg's head on impact, before it snapped forward in an awful, dizzying bounce.

"You killed-killed me," Bonnie snarled.

"I didn't-!" Greg attempted to say.

She slammed him again, daring him to lie to her a second time. Mike and Vanna both winced at the sight.

"...So he started with her," Mike whispered.

Vanna didn't comment. She just watched Greg struggle in the animatronic's grip.

"My last m-m-m-moments fade in and-and out," Bonnie Wickes said, "but I remember-ember you let me b-b-bleed. All because I wouldn't-wouldn't have you."

Spring Bonnie's nose shoved into Greg's, giving him an excellent view of the old silver discs, downturned eyelids, and empty sockets behind them. Two ghostly lights seemed to burn with fire as they stared him down. He gagged on the sudden smell of rust and rot assaulting his senses.

"More than that-that," Bonnie said, furiously, "I can access-access the maintenance history, Gr-Gregory. M-m-my safety measures were all-were all dis-is-is-_disabled_."

If the rabbit's face wasn't already a masterpiece of fury, the silvery discs would have blazed with fire.

"And the internal mem-memory and video feed shows _you_ were the o-o-one who _tampered with it_!"

All around them, the building lights swiftly cut in and out as if to undertone Bonnie Wickes' fury. Several of the video games suddenly turned on, filling the room with an instant cacophony of bright lights and noise. Mike held up a hand to protect his eyes from the sudden strobe effects. Vanna focused on Spring Bonnie to allow her vision to adjust.

"I didn't know what to do!" Greg cried, trying to be heard over the din. He shut his eyes tightly to avoid being blinded. "Freddy was dead. Everyone knew it! You wouldn't even give me a chance! You'd rather be drunk and miserable than happy with me!"

Another furious scream erupted from Spring Bonnie's voice box before she spoke again.

"I'd rather-rather be _ALIVE!_"

While Bonnie Wickes made her accusations, Mike caught movement by the stage. He watched carefully though with the visual chaos to be sure. The purple Bonnie still stared forward, watching the room with his sleepy, unseeing gaze. Freddy rolled over, his heavy torso still folded over Chica, under whom Will was still pinned. Mike looked to Vanna, who nodded to confirm she caught it too. A silent agreement made, the two of them carefully crawled out from behind the prize counter.

"I d-didn't want to!" Greg gasped, once more trying to move the fingers and kick the hollow yellow chest. "You forced my hand!"

The animatronic's feet dug into the tile. Spring Bonnie's weight shifted to counter Greg's attempts to free himself.

"You killed-_killed_ me," Bonnie Wickes repeated, "and hurt my family, all be-e-e-because you didn't-didn't get your way."

The rabbit's good ear straightened, and the animatronic's eyelids lifted in realization, before they lowered back into the glare. The video game cabinets around them errored out. The screens rapidly flickered in a visual turmoil of color and code. Several of them droned loudly, while others' sound effects cut in and out.

"Is that why you were-you were trying to steal my work too, Gr-Gr-Gregory?"

Mike and Vanna ducked behind some of the still-standing tables as they crawled across the room. The floor-length tablecloths provided some reprieve from the video games, at least. As they got closer, they saw Will wriggling under Chica. He almost had his hand free.

"I was trying to hel-!"

Spring Bonnie slammed him again, unwilling to listen to anymore of his lies. The lights stabilized and the video game cabinets simply showed blank screens.

"You wanted me away-away from here," she said. "To destroy m-m-m-my dream. _Our_ dream! You wanted to destroy everything Fr-Fr-Freddy and I built together!"

Greg let go of the rabbit's wrists in shock, dangling for a moment in the animatronic's grip. He coughed and choked for a few seconds as he scrambled to grab on again. A small sound of tearing cloth reached his ears. Something hard and sharp lightly scraped his skin. Greg tightened his grip as he waited for some of the pain to subside. His head spun, and he briefly wondered he gained a minor concussion.

Mike reached the stage first and shot a glance behind him to see Spring Bonnie still pinning Greg against the wall. He winced a little from the video game lights, having lost the tables' protection. Vanna gently tapped his shoulder to remind him of their task.

"You were...obsessed," Greg managed, blinking a few times to readjust to the now-still lights. "When you could have had-"

Spring Bonnie's voice box dangerously lowered in volume as Bonnie Wickes spoke. She pressed the mascot's nose to his again.

"I _had_ everything I could have-could have wanted," she growled. "The only thing I w-w-wanted more was Freddy by my-by my side."

Over on the stage, a metallic groan echoed throughout the dining room as Mike and Vanna pushed Freddy off of Chica. The bear rolled forward, awkwardly landing on his side. His microphone slipped from his hand and rolled away.

Spring Bonnie's hands twisted outward, pulling on Greg's collar while slowly digging the large animatronic fists into his neck. The tearing sounds continued as the sharpness pushed into his flesh. Greg gritted his teeth, but adjusted his position as best he could. If he suspected correctly...

"And you t-t-took him too, didn't you?" Bonnie Wickes said.

She let the murderer choke and struggle, though she took care to let him still breathe. Greg refused to answers her.

"Where-where is he, Gregory?" the old rabbit demanded. "Where's my Freddy-bear?"

The video games flashed, then settled. Many of them only showed code and broken segments of pixels. Greg simply shook his head. He lifted himself and tried to bring his weight down. He felt the fabric of his collar give a little more. Spring Bonnie's stance shifted again. The joints tightened and locked into place as Bonnie Wickes pressed the fists a little more into his neck.

"That's n-n-n-not going to work, Greg-Gregory. I'm stronger than you."

Greg gritted his teeth as he collar tightened, but as he hoped, the fabric caught on the edges of what he suspected were the mirror shards caught between the animatronic's knuckles. If Bonnie Wickes noticed, she paid it no heed, content she still had him in her grasp.

With Freddy out of their way, Vanna took one of Chica's shoulders, and let Mike situate himself on her other side. The two of them started to heave her forward and make the chicken sit...only for Vanna to feel a sharp _yank_ as Chica pulled her arm away from her. As she let go, she heard a set of padded footsteps behind her, the soft hiss of servos. The purple Bonnie abandoned his guitar and quietly made his way down the stage.

A groan caught her attention as Mike pulled Will away from Chica.

"M'fine," Will whispered. "Just really sore."

Greg's collar tightened further. His arms strained to keep his weight from completely dragging him down. The sharpness at his neck continued to scrape.

"I won't-I won't ask nicely again, Gregory," Bonnie Wickes continued. "Where's. My. _Freddy-bear?_"

Greg braced his feet against the wall in an attempt to relieve some of the stress on his arms. He shifted his hold on Spring Bonnie's forearms, trying to ensure his collar caught on the sharp points he felt. With a heave, he pulled himself up as much as he could, still kicking and struggling. A second later, he let go, throwing his weight down as he fell. As he hoped, the cloth tore further, releasing the collar from his shirt. Greg's skin snagged on the sharp glass points, drawing blood as he fell. With one more a quick twist, he was free.

Spring Bonnie let go of the collar and quickly loosened her joints grab for him, but he slipped right through her fingers, making a mad dash for the back room.

A long hook shot out from behind the curtains as he passed by Pirate Cove and snagged the back of his shirt. Greg found himself pulled back and his feet suddenly dangling in the air as Foxy hoisted him up. His yellow eyes glowed, and much like Spring Bonnie, they narrowed into a wrathful expression. The fox's sharp, shiny teeth glinted as a loud, furious screech erupted from his throat.

_Got ye now, lubber! Knew I'd get th' right one someday!_

Mike, Vanna, and Will all covered their ears at the screech. Greg cried out as he was caught and lifted, kicking at the air. Spring Bonnie started her approach.

"Nice c-c-catch, Foxy," she said menacingly. "Just like a-like a worm on a hook."

The screech died out. Foxy grinned.

_Couldn't've said it better meself._

From the main stage, Will lowered his hands from his ears and smirked.

"Firs' one I got back up," he said, quietly. "That torn ol' costume made it easy to get to th' wiring."

Foxy tilted his head as he looked Greg over. A familiar crackling sound came from behind the curtains.

"S...Sm...m…"

The audio clips sounded similar to the accented voice Mike and Vanna heard when Foxy spoke to them.

"Sm...Smilin'...Smilin' M-Man."

Greg dangled from the hook, wriggling as he tried to make the back of his uniform tear off it.

"...Wh-what?" he asked, stopping just long enough to glance at Foxy.

He immediately looked away from the sharp metal teeth.

The purple Bonnie had since reached Pirate Cove and stood in front of Greg, blocking his path should he manage to get free. The rabbit's hands were raised, poised with anticipation to catch any running prey. Another speaker crackle joined the others, this one much softer, both thanks to the more regular upkeep and Greg's tune-up earlier.

"...Smiling...Man…" came Bonnie's gentle tenor.

Spring Bonnie casually kept pace from behind Greg, blocking off the west hallway. Bonnie Wickes' quiet laughter came from the speakers, just as broken and stilted as her speech.

"What do you mean?" Greg asked, still trying to free his shirt from the hook. "Me?"

Foxy shook him to keep him from freeing himself.

"Smilin' Man," he said, simply.

The sound of hissing servos and metal joints moving surrounded Mike and Vanna as Freddy and Chica both pushed themselves back onto their feet. They tromped down from the stage, Freddy in the lead, his microphone forgotten. The tables that remained standing in all the prior tussles were casually shoved aside as the bear and the chicken joined their robotic brethren, making the front entrance inaccessible to Greg as well.

Both of their voice boxes crackled on. Freddy's deep baritone and Chica's high-pitched soprano joined the chant.

"Smiling...Man…"

Foxy lifted Greg a little higher. All of the animatronic voice boxes began to sync. Beside Spring Bonnie, a faint blue light formed as Vesper Belrose took form again. She rested a ghostly hand partially through Spring Bonnie's and joined her friends in the chant.

"Smiling Man. Smiling Man. Smiling Man. Smiling Man."

The lights above flickered again. Many of the video games stabilized, once more only showing dark, blank screens.

"We're a-all-a-a-all here, Gregory," Spring Bonnie's voice box crackled once more. "Every soul you mur-m-m-murdered."

_At last,_ came Freddy's baritone, above the continued chanting. _After all these years_.

_Our patience paid off,_ Chica added.

_And this time,_ Bonnie finished, _he won't get away_.

Foxy turned his hook, giving Greg a look to each angry animatronic face, from the purple Bonnie's glowing red eyes, to Freddy's furious grimace, to Chica's open beak longing to bite, to Spring Bonnie's mocking laughter. All of them continued their chant.

"Smiling man. Smiling man. Smiling man. Smiling man."

Over on the main stage, Mike, Vanna, and Will all managed to get to their feet. Will used Vanna as a brace on his pained and shaking legs, with one arm around his stomach. If he could be grateful to Greg for anything, the chill of the fridge kept back a lot of the pain that was flooding in now.

The three of them watched the scene unfold before them. The elevated stage gave even Mike a good look at Greg's sheer terror as he struggled to free himself. Will hesitated, wondering if he should do something.

"What're those critters gonna do to 'im?" he whispered.

Mike recalled the nightly phone calls he got the first half of the week.

"...We probably don't want to know," he said, quietly.

Greg wouldn't struggle for long as the purple Bonnie reached out and grabbed his left arm. Freddy and Chica followed in succession, taking his legs. Foxy grabbed his right arm with his metal hand, then released his hook from the back of Greg's shirt, hooking it over his arm. He stepped down from the Pirate's Cove stage to be more level with his brethren.

"Smiling man," the chant continued. "Smiling man..."

The murderer cried out as the hook tip dug into his skin. He tried to pull himself free, but the animatronic hands held strong. He quickly scanned the room for something, _anything_ to put their focus on. Between Bonnie and Freddy, Greg caught the figures on the stage.

"Wait! Stop!" he cried.

Greg struggled to point at Mike, turning his wrist almost painfully to do so in Bonnie's tight grip.

"He's a guard too!" he screamed, trying to be heard over the chanting. "He's involved!"

_Once upon a time, that might have worked,_ Freddy said, not bothering to look at the stage. _Not anymore_.

_Sometimes found, and sometimes lost,_ Chica sang cheerfully. _The greatest ones are worth the cost_.

Even as they spoke, their physical speakers kept chanting. Vanna didn't bother to hold back her snorted laughter at Chica's mocking song. Mike simply smirked as the animatronics' attention remained on Greg.

"They don't remember...faces," he said coolly, ignoring the ache in his ribs. "Only...only uniforms."

He gestured to his hatless head and light blue shirt, pulling the badge from the pocket as he did. Mike calmly let the metal piece fall to the floor.

"And wouldn't you...kn-know it?" he asked. "I'm not in...uniform."

Watching Greg's eyes bulge filled him with glee, and almost made it worth the pain it took to speak.

"N-no!" Greg cried. "You're a guard too!"

_I can let this one pass,_ Foxy jovially added. _I've grown fond of th' lad_.

_He hears us,_ Bonnie said. _You don't_.

Will glanced at the animatronics. While he couldn't hear them speak either, he noticed their decided indifference as they kept Greg bound.

"I think the critters are the judges o'that," he said to Greg. "Mike doesn't seem to be pingin' their criteria."

Spring Bonnie's laughter ceased. She glanced down at Vesper, who flickered in and out of view. Spring Bonnie's hand mimed a gentle stroke of her hair, before the golden animatronic started to approach Greg. The chanting finally stopped as Freddy and Chica both got down on one knee, allowing Greg to use their shoulders as a makeshift seat as they held fast to his legs. Bonnie and Foxy remained standing, keeping their grips on his arms. The four of them almost seemed to be offering him as a sacrifice to Spring Bonnie. Greg tried again to free himself from their grip, only to feel their metal hands tighten around his limbs.

"What's-what's the matter, Gr-Greg-Gr-Gregory?" Bonnie Wickes asked. "Did your t-t-tampering come back-come back to bite you?"

Greg glared at her, finally giving up his fruitless effort to free himself.

"Go to Hell," he said.

"I'm already there," Bonnie Wickes shot back.

She brought a finger to the suit's mouth, pondering.

"In fact…"

A clear note of amusement rang in her voice.

"...You'll be j-join-joining me soon."

Spring Bonnie's hands reached up to grip the sides of the mask. Her ghostly pupils shone brighter with a newly-determined purpose. She savored how Greg's eyes widened when two soft _clicks_ released on either side, how he shrank back when she took a step forward, how his mouth gaped in a loss for words.

"What was it you told-told Mr. Schmidt ear-earlier?" Bonnie Wickes asked as she lifted the old head from the animatronic's shoulders. Its jaws still moved as it spoke, and her eyes still glowed from behind the silver discs. "That he would-he would un-u-u-understand _exactly_ what happened to Jeremy Fitzg-g-g-gerald?"

Will quickly pulled away from Vanna and stumbled down the steps of the stage, taking pained breaths with every movement. Vanna tried to stop him, but found herself following him instead, with Mike not far behind her.

"Bon!" Will cried. "B-Bon, wait! You don't have to-to do this!"

Spring Bonnie turned the head in her hands to let it face Will. The ghostly eyes flared, and the jaw clicked up and down with each word. Will stepped back. Vanna and Mike joined him on either side.

"I've waited over t-t-t-two decades, William," Bonnie Wickes snarled. "I've been-been _trapped_ here as he r-r-ruined everything I've built, used my-my creations to _destroy lives_!"

Spring Bonnie moved the head to one hand and used the other to point to Vesper, and more specifically, the tears constantly streaming down her cheeks.

"M-m-my nieces never got to grow up-grow up together," she continued. "Their childhoods were-were st-st-stolen from them, as were the other childrens'. All because this selfish-selfish cad didn't get his way!"

She turned the head to face Greg.

"That's why-why you did all this," Bonnie Wickes said. "You couldn't have what you-what you wanted, so _no one could!_"

Greg simply smirked from his animatronic prison.

"Whatever you want to do to me, Bon," he said, "it won't matter. I've already won. This place wasn't going to last the year, and now it might not last the month."

_You've won nothing,_ Freddy growled, his jaw clenching tightly.

Greg winced in pain as the four sets of metal hands tightened around his limbs again, barely allowing him any circulation. It didn't stop his grin.

"And you legacy dies with it," Greg said, coolly.

Spring Bonnie glowered and started to approach him again.

"That doesn't matter anymore," she said. "It ends-ends-ends _tonight_."

"Aunt Bunny!"

Spring Bonnie stopped. She turned the head until its eyes found Vanna. The glowing pinpricks dimmed to something softer.

"...Vanna," she said, quietly, her voice temporarily soft and warm. The jaw still creaked as it moved. "You probably-probably don't remember me, do you-do you? Oh, you've grown-grown so beautifully."

Spring Bonnie moved the head to properly look her over.

"It's h-h-heartbreaking to see what-see what Vesper could have become."

Vanna's eyes momentarily went to her sister's ghost, then back to the golden rabbit, and the disembodied head in its hands. A bitter smile formed on her lips.

"Will's right," Vanna said, trying to keep her voice from wavering. "You don't have to do this."

Spring Bonnie briefly looked behind her, where Vesper's ghost still quietly lingered and shifted. The rabbit beckoned the ghost to join her, and Vesper obeyed, hovering just above the tiles.

"You and your sister meant-meant the w-w-world to me," Bonnie said. "So much that hearing-hearing your name helped me to wake."

"Then stay that way," Vanna pleaded, stepping toward her. "I don't have many memories of you, but the few I have are sweet. I don't..."

She glanced to Greg, then back at Spring Bonnie.

"...I want him to pay for what he did just as much as you do," Vanna said. "We can call the police. He'll still be trapped in a prison."

She watched Spring Bonnie lift a hand and bring it to her face. Vanna winced a little at the rough old cloth and the broken metal tips brushed against her cheek. Something pressed against her hands. Vanna looked down to find herself holding Spring Bonnie's mask. She bit back her disgust at the feel of the hard metal skull underneath the grungy cloth and tried not to imagine how much of Jeremy's blood mingled with the dust and grime that covered it.

Spring Bonnie's body turned away, heading back towards her animatronic creations.

"I'm sorry-sorry, Vanna," she said.

It took Vanna all of her willpower to not drop the mask as its jaw moved. The suit's hands raised to crack its knuckles. A few pieces of glass broke away and slipped to the floor.

"I want him to s-s-suffer," Bonnie Wicke said, "just like we _all_ did."

The headless suit started to approach the other animatronics and their prisoner. Mike quickly stepped in her way. He started to say something, but not a single word fell from his lips before Spring Bonnie shoved him aside. The sheer force from the suit made him lose his balance and directly slam into one of the overturned tables. The mask in Vanna's hands moved again.

"I don't-don't want to hurt any of you," Bonnie Wickes said, "but I w-w-won't let you get in my way."

Spring Bonnie turned to other animatronics.

"F-Foxy, Bonnie" she said, sternly. "Grab his l-l-legs. Freddy, Chica-Chica, you two come here."

The animatronics did as they were told. Greg tried to pull away the second Freddy and Chica let go, but the purple Bonnie's strong grip and Foxy's hook now piercing into his calf made any attempts short-lived. Spring Bonnie's headless body pointed to the remaining humans.

"Keep-keep them back."

Mike crawled off the fallen table and backed away as Chica unhooked Dulcie from her hand and set him on the edge of Foxy's stage before she approached Mike, her arms outstretched.

_Please don't force my hand, Mikey_.

"You don't have to do this," Mike said.

_Then stay back,_ she said. _Let us handle the Smiling Man_.

Vanna dropped Spring Bonnie's head and ran over to Mike to help him stand. She held him to her as she helped him walk to the prize counter. Freddy got directly into Will's path, and worked to herd him towards the counter as well.

_We need only keep you back,_ Freddy said. _Don't make this any harder than it needs to be_.

The three humans huddled together as Freddy and Chica cornered them, positioning themselves like guards only enough to keep them against the prize counter. Behind them, Spring Bonnie's body knelt down on one knee as Bonnie and Foxy hoisted Greg up.

"Stop!" he screamed. "Leave me alone!"

"And h-how many of your victims-victims said the same thing, Gregory?" crackled Spring Bonnie's voice box. "Did my-did my Freddy-bear beg for mercy too?"

Greg tried again to free himself, but the animatronics held firm. Several winding sounds came from inside Spring Bonnie's body, followed by a series of gentle _clicks_ as the animatronic parts secured in place. The back of the suit creaked open, the normally smooth surface folding in at either side to leave plenty of room for a human to climb in. The purple Bonnie forced in the leg he held first, making sure to grip Greg's knee so he couldn't kick. Foxy assisted on the other side, with the Spring Bonnie suit standing as Greg's legs slid inside to ensure she held him properly.

The murderer fought to pull his legs out, but the purple Bonnie pushed firmly against the back of his pelvis, forcing his hips to align with Spring Bonnie's and prevent any further escape attempts. A few metal _clicks_ came from Spring Bonnie, the metal pieces pressing just enough into Greg's legs that trying to pull them out would shred them. Greg tried to pull away as Bonnie and Foxy repeated the process with his arms. His shoulders proved to be too broad to fit into the chest cavity. As a solution, his animatronic captors simply dislocated his shoulders to make them fit the sleeves. They ignored his sharp scream as the back of the suit barely closed around his large chest.

Once the prisoner was situated, Spring Bonnie stood at attention like a tin soldier, keeping Greg bound.

"L-l-l-last chance, Gregory," Bonnie Wickes said. "Where's Freddy?"

"Where you always thought he was," Greg said, coldly.

A small, bitter laugh crackled through the speaker. The game cabinets flickered with code again as the lights above went in and out.

"Then join us among-among the d-d-d-damned."

Vesper disappeared, not wanting to watch the horror. Vanna gasped and covered her mouth with one hand as she watched, and held Mike tightly with the other. Mike looked away and rested his head in the crook of her shoulder, unwilling to watch the gruesome scene unfold. Will crossed his arms and reached up to pull his brim down over his eyes. Neither Chica nor Freddy turned to look, mostly to keep watch over their charges.

_It'll be over soon,_ Chica promised.

_He won't hurt anyone else ever again,_ Freddy said.

Spring Bonnie, now with Greg inside, walked over to pick up the mask. Greg winced and whimpered with each movement against his ill-fitting body. He watched as the golden hands picked up the mask and adjusted it. They forced his own hands to move with them to lift it up over his head and adjust it properly, blocking out his view of the world save for the two silver discs in front of him. He gagged at the stench of dust, rot, and years' old blood. Greg barely kept himself from vomiting.

"T-t-take your last breath, Gregory," Bonnie Wickes ordered, "and savor it, because it's the only-only mercy you get."

He felt the metal pieces Spring Bonnie used to hold him in place wind back, readying to snap. Greg obeyed, sucking in a breath as they quivered with the threat of release. He held it for as long as he could, for the moment he breathed again was the moment he died.

His lungs caved. The metal pieces shifted against his skin. All at once, the entire suit jolted, forcing Greg to scream as sharp metal pieces cut into his body. The Spring Bonnie suit stumbled forward, as though something threw it off balance, and it tried to regain it.

From the prize counter, Vanna gasped and buried her face in Mike's hair, holding him tightly with both hands now. He returned her embrace, then dared to peek up from her arms. Will just turned away, letting Freddy serve as a shield to block his view.

Mike watched the Spring Bonnie suit stagger and try to right itself again. After a long moment, he gently tugged Vanna's sleeve to get her attention and pointed to it. It took another moment for them to realize that Greg's cries held no labor to them, that no blood poured from between the metal joints, that they never actually heard the sound of metal springs breaking through bone.

Spring Bonnie's voice box faltered, sputtering as Bonnie Wickes tried to speak.

"St-st-stop figh-"

It crackled into white noise, preventing her from saying anything else. Now and again, she managed a syllable or two, but the white noise made even those indistinguishable.

Spring Bonnie barely regained its balance, its hands clawing into the sides of its head.

_No,_ came a male voice with an Irish brogue. _I won't let you do this!_


	45. Fredbear

_Power: 59%_

_Auto update date and time: 11/14/1993 01:17:56am_

* * *

The voice rang so loud and sharp that Mike and Vanna both winced. All around them, the games and lights stabilized. Mike pulled away from Vanna and stepped forward to better see between Chica and Freddy. The two animatronics moved quickly, each touching the other's waist to form an X between them, and positioned their other arms to box the humans in at the prize counter, with the counter itself forming a back wall. Mike made no effort to try to cross the sudden barrier, only to get a better view of the scene. The Spring Bonnie suit staggered once more, with Greg trying to bite back further cries of pain. Will immediately turned to his younger companions.

"Mike?" he asked. "What's goin' on?"

Mike waved him off as the voice died down. Behind him, Vanna shook her head to relieve the residual dizziness, feeling her mind clear a little.

"Jeremy…?" she whispered.

Freddy and Chica both turned their heads completely around to witness the scene. Will leaned over Freddy's shoulder to get a better look. Bonnie and Foxy both stood at the ready, uncertain if they should intervene.

_Why is he fighting her?_ Freddy wondered. _It can all end right now_.

Mike glanced up to him.

"Because this isn't right," he said. "Not when there's a better way."

Spring Bonnie stiffened again, then regained its balance, grounding its feet firmly into the tile. The hands clenched into broken fists as its face formed into a look of hatred. Soft sounds of quivering metal came from inside. Greg whimpered. The white noise from the speaker died down again.

"St-stop fighting me!" crackled Bonnie Wickes' voice. "He's going to-going to pay for w-w-w-what he did!"

The quivering stopped for a moment. The hatred on Spring Bonnie's face softened temporarily. The fists uncurled, and Spring Bonnie gently crossed its arms over its chest, its fingers holding firm to its upper arms to keep them in place.

_I have just as much right to vengeance as you do,_ Jeremy said calmly, trying to assuage Bonnie. _But not like this_.

From inside the mask, Greg stared at the silently moving jaw. He briefly wondered if it was a glitch in the system...or if it was something else.

"...Fitzgerald?" he whispered.

The hatred in the golden rabbit's face came back. Bonnie Wickes succeeded only in unwrapping the arms from around the body, holding them awkwardly before her. Around them, code from the games flickered and moved, shifting in attempts to correct themselves. The speaker crackled on again.

"You might have-might have suffered," Bonnie Wickes hissed, "but you don't h-h-h-have _nearly_ the right that I-that _I_ do!"

The metal springs threatened to snap. Greg shifted his arms to try to center them as far from the spring locks as he could. He felt them scratch and tear at his sleeves and gently cut in his skin. He watched the jaw silently click again.

_Is this how you want it to end?_ Jeremy asked. _With _more _blood on your creations?_

Greg bit his lip as the spring locks vibrated around him. With how the suit scratched and twisted his body with its spastic movements, he regretted his earlier taunts. Even from the prize counter, the trapped humans heard his heavy breathing from under the mask.

"Aunt Bonnie, listen to him!" Vanna screamed.

"Listen to who?" Will asked.

"Jeremy," Mike answered, keeping his voice quiet so Greg wouldn't hear. "He's trying to talk her down."

"He's got a battle ahead of 'im, then," Will said, shifting a bit in their cramped prison. "Once Bon sets 'er sights on somethin', she's like a dog with a bone and doesn't back down."

_He doesn't seem t' be havin' much success,_ Foxy said, positioning himself to grab Spring Bonnie if the suit got too out of control. _Personally, I agree with th' lass. Let's gut th' lubber an' be done_.

_But he's right too,_ Bonnie said, ready to step in as well, but hesitant to do so. _There's been enough sorrow here. We shouldn't add any more_.

"It doesn't-doesn't matter anymore!" Bonnie Wickes screamed. Her voice started to waver. "He s-s-said it himself."

The golden hands reached up to cover Spring Bonnie's face. A few small, bitter sobs forced their way out of the speakers. The entire suit trembled as the arms crossed over the chest again. The video game code continued to shift.

"Bon…"

Will tried to push past Freddy to get to her, but the bear's head swiveled back around to keep an eye on him. He shifted his stance and moved his arm to better keep the janitor back, blocking him at the prize counter, and tightening the space in the human pen a little more.

"Why does-does it...m-m-matter...if he's here or in-in jail?" Bonnie Wickes asked.

_Because one is vengeance,_ Jeremy said, relieved to have control for the moment, _and the other is justice_.

"...He needs to un-u-u-understand," she said again.

Even with only getting one half of the conversation, Greg recognized the opportunity to get out of this unharmed and pounced on it.

"I _do_ understand!" he burst out, more than a bit exasperated. "I'll confess! Just don't do this, Bon!"

Crackling noise blasted at almost deafening levels from the speaker.

"RRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Mike, Vanna, and Will all shuddered as they covered their ears. Greg tightly winced and hissed as more of his skin scratched against the metal animatronic pieces. Unable to protect his own ears, they began to ring, with a minor headache forming from the noise.

"YOU SHUT UP!" Bonnie Wickes screamed at him. "YOU HAD YOUR-HAD YOUR CHANCE!"

The metal twitched again, louder this time...and the sharp sound of a metal rod cracking through bone filled the room, distinct and horrifying. Mike felt his blood chill as his right arm suddenly throbbed. A sharp gasp from Vanna mingled with Greg's anguished cry. Beside him, he heard Will fall down to one knee while making a retching sound. Freddy shifted his legs to ensure Will couldn't try to crawl out from under the makeshift prison, not that he _could_ squeeze by with his broad shoulders and large gut. Seeing a chance, Mike tried to duck under Chica and Freddy's crossed arms, only for Chica to quickly grab his collar.

_Mikey,_ she warned. _Stay _put_!_

Mike glowered at her as he reached up to try to undo his collar. Chica simply pulled him back into the pen with Will and Vanna.

All around them, the lights and games went haywire. Mike and Vanna reached up to shield their eyes in the rapidly flashing lights. Even the animatronics seemed concerned at the sudden chaos. Freddy and Chica turned their heads to try to find a source. The purple Bonnie stepped back, his paws held up to his chest, his ears drooping in fright. Foxy held up his hook, his eyes darting around to try to find the culprit. Will got a hold of himself, but kept his gaze to the floor to mitigate the flashing brightness. He barely held the vileness back and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

The main lights stabilized. The games continued to flash. Without the main power going haywire, the emergency lights provided just enough light to see the room. Mike and Vanna lowered their hands to let their eyes adjust.

"Bon..." Will managed, after a moment, his voice wavering.

"...Aunt Bonnie…" Vanna said, sadly.

Her hands hovered near her mouth, as though uncertain if she needed to hold back a forming scream. Will slowly pushed himself back to his feet, using Freddy's arm as a brace.

Blood gushed from Spring Bonnie's right wrist, with long red trails dripping over the hand and catching at the fingers. Another quivering sound made it clear another one threatened to snap. The suit's balance was thrown off again as Jeremy wrested control back. He went to the nearest wall, just before the west hall entrance, and shoved the suit's hands against it. Jeremy ignored Greg's agonized howl from his bent and broken wrist as he tried to keep the suit stationary for a moment.

_Bonnie, stop!_ Jeremy cried. _Think about this a moment!_

"What's there t-t-to think about?" Bonnie Wickes demanded, her voice still trembling. She tried to pull the hands away from the wall. "He's a mur-m-m-_murderer_!"

_We're both trapped in here,_ Jeremy said, maintaining control for as long as he could, _fighting for control of this suit. If you kill him, he joins us_.

"Then _let him_!"

Greg screamed again as a second lock snapped, doing more damage to his right arm. The games all flashed as the blood dripped from the suit's elbow and leaked down onto the floor.

"Bon!" Will screamed. He tried to push past Freddy to reach for her, with no luck. "Bon, _stop_!"

Spring Bonnie turned its head completely around to glare at Will. The speaker crackled in an attempt to respond, but died down. The quivering noise started again, barely forced back only a second later.

_And what if he gains control?_ Jeremy asked. _What then?_

"He-h-h-he won't," Bonnie Wickes said, firmly, still facing Will down.

_And if he _does_?_ Jeremy asked again.

He barely kept a third lock from snapping, and shifted his control to try to keep the rest stationary. The sound of the clicking jaw filled the room.

Really _think about this, Bonnie,_ Jeremy continued. _You built this thing to last. I bashed in metal walls last night, and I almost hurt Mike in blind fury_.

Mike shuddered a bit, feeling sick at the remembered demonstration of the suit's power the night before. Vanna held him tightly, her mind on the same thing.

_Look at the hands_, Jeremy said, softly.

He made the suit's mask turn back around to stare at the hands pressed against the wall, one bloodied and one still clean. The flashing lights from the games made a few shards of glass glimmer from the tears in the cloth, but the frame underneath remained mostly undamaged, the fingers and knuckles still nearly whole. Spring Bonnie's jaw silently moved again.

_There's barely a scratch on the endoskeleton,_ Jeremy pointed out, _and there's no pain to make us hold back. Do you _really _want to risk Greg gaining that much power? Being in _control _of it?_

Another spring lock wavered. The speaker crackled, but once more, no voice spoke. It merely played static, like an old radio in a dead zone, broken only with an occasional sob. Jeremy pulled the bloodied right hand away from the wall - once more ignoring Greg's pained reaction - and pointed over at the purple Bonnie and Foxy. Bonnie stepped back, while Foxy turned his head in curiosity.

_And unlike them,_ Jeremy said, _this suit doesn't have a time limit for when it can move freely. It's not bound by the same rules_.

Bonnie hesitantly nodded in agreement.

_He's right,_ he said quietly. _At 6am, we go back to the stages_.

Spring Bonnie's speaker remained on radio static for a long moment. Will looked back to Mike and Vanna, who both listened intently to Jeremy, their gazes fixated on the Spring Bonnie suit. Mike leaned over Freddy and Chica's crossed arms to somewhat see it properly.

"Erm...mind filling me in?" Will asked, quietly.

Before either of his companions could answer, Greg spoke.

"...I-if you're going to...do this, Bonnie," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "then just...do it already and get it over with. Don't just...leave the job unfinished, you-you crazy bitc-!"

"Shut the fuck up, Greg," Mike interrupted. "It's the _only_ thing keeping you alive right now."

_He just needs to keep the suit charged,_ Jeremy pointed out, his words calm, but with an undertone of a twisting knife, _and he's effectively immortal. That's our eternity, Bonnie: spending our strength keeping Greg under control. All it takes is one of us wavering, even for a moment, and he can usurp power. If that happens, who _knows _who he'll be able to hurt once he has it? After that, it starts all over again: more people die until he's satisfied. That's what vengeance will get us_.

The radio static continued for several long moments. Five processors hummed, with Spring Bonnie's rising as the loudest. Greg tried again to keep back any more pained noises with little success. The speaker crackled again, with quiet ghostly sobs fading in and out between the static.

"Aunt Bunny."

A small blue light began to grow brighter as Vesper's ghost reappeared. She floated up from the floor, her gangly limbs poised on invisible strings. Her empty sockets glowed with white pinpricks. Eternal tears streamed down her cheeks.

"You are sad," she said in simple monotone. "Puppet would not want you to be sad."

Spring Bonnie turned to the ghost, her own pinpricks flickering and obscuring what little could be seen of Greg's face. She reached the non-bloodied hand to Vesper's face, and pantomimed stroking her cheek.

"...M-my little one…where is…?"

Vesper simply pointed to the prize counter, where the Puppet's gutted, headless body still hung over its box. A sharp gasp came from the speaker as Spring Bonnie's hands covered the mouth, the one good ear straightening up in horror. The metal feet loudly clanked against the tile, obscuring some of Greg's pained noises as the suit hurried toward the prize counter and knelt down beside the present box.

"Li-Li-Little one…"

_Gregory did it,_ Freddy said softly. _We watched him, right after he brought William to the kitchen, but we were unable to assist_.

_And then he shut us down,_ Chica added.

Spring Bonnie wordlessly looked over the thin marionette, her hands hovering over it, the ghostly pupils wildly moving back and forth as she examined the damage. A bit of Greg's blood dripped onto the tile nearby. Bonnie Wickes moved the right hand away, if only to keep her creation free of it. Vesper floated over without a word, gently hovering behind the old animatronic.

_It brought us back,_ Jeremy said gently, trying again to assuage Bonnie Wickes.

The speaker remained on radio static for another long moment. The mask's eyelids turned down into an angry glare. The hands pressed into the floor as Greg hissed in pain.

"Where-where is the rest of it?" Bonnie Wickes asked.

"The mask is over by the stage," Mike offered.

He pulled from Vanna's arms to point in that direction.

"Not y-y-you," Bonnie Wickes said.

She turned the suit's right arm solely to shift Greg's broken bones a little more out of place and savored the sudden yowl of anguish. Bonnie Wickes allowed the animtronic's arm to twist back into its proper position. She waited for his snivelling to die down before she spoke again.

"Where is the-is the rest, Gregory?"

Greg let out a helpless laugh that formed into a sob.

"You're going to...kill me anyway," he managed. "Why should I tell you...anything? You can st-stay in...in Hell with n-no answ-argh!"

Greg winced and hissed as one of them slowly began to bore through his right shoulder blade, giving him a taste of another one ready to snap through it.

"I can drag your death out as long-as long as I like so long as I plan-plan which springs to use, h-h-how deep they go, and don't hit anyth-th-th-thing important," Bonnie Wickes said, coldly. "Your-your choice, Gregory."

Greg's breathing grew harder. Between the agony and the blood still leaking from his arm, he began to feel a little light-headed. He tried to reach for his shoulder, but Bonnie Wickes kept the left arm frozen in place solely to let him suffer.

"The...end result is the same," Greg said. "I won't...tell you anything."

_It's outside,_ the purple Bonnie said, quickly, trying to prevent more bloodshed. _He took the pieces outside._

He pointed towards the front door. Mike tried again to slip away. Once more, Chica grabbed his collar before he got too far. Mike glowered up at Chica.

"Let me go," he said.

_I can't_.

"Yes, you can," Mike said. "They're probably in his car. I can get Puppet's pieces if Bonnie will let me get his keys."

"Later," Bonnie Wickes said, "when he's-when he's a _corpse_."

She readied the spring locks again. Once more, Jeremy fought to keep them back.

A small blue glow shifted in front of Spring Bonnie. Vesper knelt down on the tile between Puppet's long arms and set her own little hand over the yellow rabbit's. Her deformed ghostly fingers slightly phased through it, while her own empty eyes matched with Spring Bonnie's.

"The wine made you sad," she said in her mechanical monotone, "and then it made you break things. Breaking things made you sad too, Aunt Bunny."

Spring Bonnie tilted her head to face her.

"H-how did you…?"

More tears trickled down Vesper's cheeks, in a thicker stream than before. She reached up to rub her eyes to try to wipe them away.

"Breaking him will not...make you happy," she whispered. "Please do not break him. Then you will be sad again, and then…"

Vesper moved her hand from her face and place it with the other over Bonnie's. Her voice hitched as she pleaded with her aunt.

"...Puppet could not...fix you. It made Puppet sad, and then it...it broke. ...Please do not...break again."

Spring Bonnie remained still for a moment. She turned her hand and pantomimed taking Vesper's in it, then moved the other over it to gently clasp over the ghost's.

"My...little one," Bonnie Wickes said, softly. "I…"

Vesper kept her hands in Spring Bonnie's.

"We have done what you asked," she said. "We watched. We listened. We _protected_. But we cannot...do it anymore."

The voice box remained on radio static as Spring Bonnie simply nodded. Her ghostly pinpricks glanced to Vesper, and then Puppet's body behind her. She heard Greg whimpering and ignored it as she allowed her thoughts to go blank.

"...All these...years," Bonnie Wickes whispered. "Puppet...oh, my little-little one. You've done so much. You've-you've watched over her, y-y-y-you..."

She gently reached to take Puppet's hand in her clean one.

"I didn't mean to leave you-leave you alone."

Vanna glanced up to Freddy and Chica. Freddy and Will both watched Spring Bonnie, and Chica still kept her hold and her focus on Mike. Mike's escape attempt left her a little more room to maneuver in the small enclosed space. Vanna carefully ducked under Chica's other arm, her footing light, graceful, and hardly making a sound. With practiced grace, she sidestepped to get out of Chica's reach should she notice, then circled around the Chica and Freddy to run towards Spring Bonnie.

"It brought us here," Vanna said, stopping a few feet from the Spring Bonnie. "It's been helping Mike all week."

She ignored the sound of hissing servos as Freddy broke his part of the barrier to follow her. Vanna felt his hand on her shoulder, a bit surprised at the animatronic's speed. Freddy firmly gripped her shoulder and tried to pull her back with the other humans. Vanna planted her feet, wanting to stay as close to her aunt as she could.

"And it's helped these guys for a lot longer than that," Mike said, gesturing to the other animatronics.

_Yes,_ Freddy agreed. _It helped us with our role as vessels_.

_We learned to soothe and speak for the children,_ Chica added.

She gently ran her fingers over Dulcie's frosting.

_An' it tried t' help us find this lubber,_ Foxy said, gesturing to Spring Bonnie with his hook.

_We can finally bring the Smiling Man to justice_, Bonnie finished.

Spring Bonnie looked up and gently turned its head to face each of the animatronics, then Mike, Will, and Vanna. The eyelids turned to show sorrow. The one good ear drooped forward as it turned away again, once more glancing down at Puppet. Will put a hand on Spring Bonnie's forearm.

"It's okay, Bon," he said. "You're not alone. You were _never_ alone in this."

Only radio static played in response. A soft _creak_ sounded from the mask as Spring Bonnie gave a gentle nod in response. Inside the suit, Greg tried to blink back tears and suck in snot. He shifted a bit to try to be more comfortable, though an occasional pained whimper left his throat.

The lights went out, save for the video game screens. The streams of code stabilized. They all flashed a flat yellow, then black, then yellow again. All of the room's occupants, human and animatronic, turned to look at them save for Spring Bonnie, who simply took Puppet's hand in her clean one. The voice box still played static broken up between gentle sobs.

All of the start screens suddenly went to black, before large text covered their surfaces. One by one, the letters popped up, typed by an invisible hand:

B...O...N...

They appeared on one screen after another, until every game showed the same word across the top of each screen:

BONNIE.

The screens flashed again in deliberation. The purple Bonnie tilted his head in confusion.

_Me?_ he asked.

Mike shook his head at Bonnie, then looked over at Spring Bonnie. Neither Bonnie Wickes nor Jeremy seemed to notice the flashing screens with the suit's gaze focused on Puppet. Slowly, the typing began again, leaving another message just under the name:

YOU ARE

NOT ALONE.  
I'M HERE.

Foxy tilted his head in confusion.

_What be this, then?_ he asked.

_I don't know,_ Bonnie answered.

Vanna stepped closer to the screen. Her eyes widened as it clicked in place.

"...Holy shit," she whispered.

Mike simply stared at the screens. Will's eyes widened as he got it too. His hand trembled as he gently shook Spring Bonnie's shoulder to try to get her attention.

"...Bon," he said softly, "I think...I think you need to see this."

The old animatronic perked up. Inside, Greg barely bit back a pained noise.

"S-s-see what?" Bonnie Wickes asked.

Will pointed to the video game screens. Spring Bonnie followed his hand and glanced at the words. The animatronic eyes widened as far as they could go.

"...Wh-wh-who…?" Bonnie Wickes managed.

A labored gasp came from inside the mask.

"...No," Greg whispered. "It can't…"

The screens changed again, then typed out another message.

I HAVE ALWAYS

BEEN HERE.

IT'S YOUR

FREDDY-BEAR.

A sharp gasp crackled out of the old voice box as Spring Bonnie's hands lifted up to cover its torn mouth. The entire suit shook, creating a soft rattling sound.

"Fr-Fr-Freddy…my-my..._how_?"

The screens blacked out again in a clean slate before another message began to form. As soon as one finished, it disappeared to allow another to take its place.

I HAVE BEEN

TRYING TO

BE HEARD.

IT TOOK YEARS

TO FIGURE OUT

THE WIRING

AND CONTROL IT.

Mike glanced up to the lights above them, and recalled the monitors that only worked at sporadic times. That explained all the random power surges...and maybe some of the other weirdness.

The messages continued.

IT TOOK LONGER

TO LEARN THAT

I HAVE CONTROL

OVER THIS  
BUILDING AND

EVERYTHING  
INSIDE IT.

Spring Bonnie pushed itself back on its feet, with Greg making a few exasperated noises as it shifted and moved. The animatronic then stepped toward the closest video game monitor.

"Then you've..." Bonnie Wickes started.

The last message blanked out so one more could be written:

ALL THIS TIME.

Spring Bonnie moved both hands to gently touch the screen. Both ears twitched, with the good one drooping forward. Greg tried to stay quiet. No one else moved or spoke. Only Greg's wounded whimpers and the soft sound of five processors running broke the silence.

"...'Where-where I always th-th-th-thought he was'," Bonnie Wickes said after a moment, repeating what Greg told her earlier.

Her voice sounded distant and detached. Will carefully made his way toward the Spring Bonnie, shaking a little himself.

"You always...always said you...f-felt 'im near," he said, gently. "I always thought...I-I-I can't believe…"

Bonnie Wickes didn't answer. The Spring Bonnie suit stilled as she simply watched the words on the screen change again.

I AM HERE,  
BONNIE. I

HAVE ALWAYS

BEEN HERE.

Spring Bonnie stared at the words on the screen. The voice box simply played radio static as Bonnie Wickes processed her thoughts. Will carefully put a hand on the suit's arm.

"Bon…"

A broken sob cut through the radio static. Spring Bonnie pulled away from him. The suit's hands reached up to cover the face as a soft rattling made its way through suit.

"...All this time," Bonnie Wickes whispered at last. "All this...a-a-a-all this time…"

Her sobs died down as Spring Bonnie slowly shifted into its default pose. Greg winced as the suit moved, but relaxed when it finally stood at attention and eased some of the pain in his arm. Upon hearing him groan, Spring Bonnie's eyelids formed into a glare as they re-read the last message again.

"From-from the beginning…" Bonnie Wickes said, "he t-t-took everything…"

Jeremy sensed danger and immediately started to talk her down.

_Bonnie…_ he said. _Freddy's here with us. You have everything he took away again. We can end this_.

"...You're right," Bonnie Wickes said after a moment. "I c-c-_can_."

Spring Bonnie's servos hummed a little louder, though it remained in its steadfast position.

A sudden scream echoed in the room as another spring lock shot into Greg's left forearm. Jeremy quickly tried to fight for control, only to find the spring locks no longer moved at his command.

_How did you-_ Jeremy started.

"This is-this is _my_ suit," Bonnie Wickes answered, "and I think i-i-i-it's time-time for an _override_."

_What are you-no! _Jeremy cried. _Stop!_

Spring Bonnie's servos hummed with use. Fresh blood dripped down over the suit's left hand. Quiet, bitter laughter broke the radio silence on the speaker.

"Bon," Will said. "What are you-?"

_She's changing the codes!_ Jeremy cried, his words tinged with horror. _Mike, I can't stop her! She's locking me out!_

Vanna quickly ran over and grabbed for Spring Bonnie's mask. Mike followed behind her, looking for any way he could assist.

"Aunt Bonnie!" she cried. "_Stop!_"

But the mask was locked in place. Spring Bonnie remained still for another moment, and when it moved again, it shoved Vanna away, leaving a few small, dark stains on the old polo. She crashed into Mike, and both of them fell to the floor.

"It seems I've solved-solved our earlier conundrum," Bonnie Wickes said with spiteful glee. "E-e-e-even if he joins us, only-only _I_ will have access."

Greg softly whimpered under the mask. The video game screens flashed urgently.

BONNIE.

Spring Bonnie turned to look at them again, and watched as one large, red word filled all the screens:

**STOP!**

The animatronic actually looked taken aback. The quivering stopped and the speaker went back to radio silence for a second as Bonnie Wickes tried to think of a response.

"Why-why should I, Freddy?" she demanded. "He t-t-took you from me! He took-he took _everything_ from us!"

The screen blacked out, then typed another message.

WAIT FOR ME.

"...What?" Bonnie Wickes asked.

Another message replaced that one.

I'M COMING.  
WAIT FOR ME.

The screens all died as the building's power went out entirely. In the sudden darkness, no one moved. Even Spring Bonnie's suit stilled, with not even a creak from its old joints. Mike shot a glance to his watch.

1:47am glowed with green digits.

In the silence, a new sound emerged. Mike knew that sound only too well. A metal foot on tile, followed by another. It sounded faint, far away, and gradually increased in volume.

"...Foxy?" he whispered. "Is that you?"

_Nay, lad,_ the fox answered.

_It isn't us, either,_ Jeremy confirmed.

A new set of glowing eyes suddenly appeared as the footsteps came closer. A long _creak_ sounded with them, of metal joints that hadn't been used in years. The eyes grew in size as their owner stepped closer.

The emergency lights shot back on. All of the video games began their start-up sequences. Mike blinked away the sudden brightness. He heard Vanna gasp beside him.

"Mike, look!"

He glanced to her, then followed her hand to where she pointed. The endoskeleton from the back room stood between the stage and the fighting game at the end of the row. Its brown eyes gazed at the floor. Its left hand was clenched just under its mouth, holding an invisible microphone. Its other hand stretched forward, with its index finger pointing down to the floor.

Spring Bonnie cautiously stepped forward.

"...Fr-Fr-Freddy?"

Mike looked at where the endoskeleton stood. He curiously stepped towards it. The brown eyes on the monitors entered his mind, and with them, he thought of the tile, the edge of the stage...with where the endoskeleton stood, the images made some sense now.

Just as he reached the endoskeleton, the vision of hands, of falling, came back.

_In the twilight, a hand grabbed his. The other hand held two of his fingers. Then it shifted, until it only held one...or rather, the ring attached to it._

_The ring slipped away._

_And with it, so did his grip_.

_He landed hard against his back. Something broke. Pain paralyzed him where he lied._

_Then an earthy wetness covered him, until he could no longer see or move or breathe_

.

Mike vaguely heard someone call his name. Strong hands caught him as he fell back. His eyes started to dry from wide, unblinking horror while his lungs struggled to work. He saw nothing but darkness as he tried to move.

He couldn't.

The hands held him up, one around his chest, the other around his waist. Rust and rot entered his nose. A whimpering human voice choked on pain. Radio static mingled with it. Dingy softness pressed into his back, with a firm shell underneath it.

Mike weakly clutched the sordid forearms. He closed his eyes and choked on a long, gasping breath as his body finally let him breathe again.

_We've got you,_ Jeremy told him. _Breathe_.

Mike took a moment to refresh his lungs, his breaths occasionally broken with a choking cough. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times to wet them and allow his vision to clear. The endoskeleton still stood before him and still pointed at the tile. Around them, the games were rebooting again.

Vanna stepped in front of him, looking worried.

"Mike," she said quietly. "Are you okay?"

Mike shook his head. His head swam as it tried to comprehend what he saw. He always knew the hand that slipped away wasn't his own. The palm was too wide, the fingers too thick. Before, he assumed the twilight in the vision created a dark silhouette of the hand. But what he _really_ saw...

"...No one…" Mike managed, trying to collect his thoughts. "That game…"

"No one what?" Vanna asked.

Mike weakly pointed to the endoskeleton.

"There," he whispered. "Fr-Freddy's there."

"Y-y-yes," Bonnie Wickes said, gently. "My Freddy-bear came, just-just like he promised."

Mike shook his head.

"No," he said. "_There_. That spot, wh-where he's pointing. That's where he's _buried_!"

The video game screens flashed again, then typed out another message.

YES. THIS IS

WHERE I'VE

ALWAYS BEEN.

Will's breath caught in horror as he looked from the endoskeleton to the floor beneath it to Spring Bonnie.

"I always thought he an' Greg just...finished settin' the foundation," he whispered. "I never thought…"

Spring Bonnie shook its head.

"Neither-neither did I," Bonnie Wickes said.

She let go of Mike, who stumbled forward into Vanna. She caught him and helped him stand, then pulled him toward the stage to leave Spring Bonnie with the endoskeleton. Spring Bonnie's right arm twisted again. Greg wailed in anguish.

"I trusted you," she said, bitterly. "I believed-_believed_ you when you said Freddy n-n-n-never showed up at the bar, that you-that you thought he went home."

Greg tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. A spring lock slowly coiled against his neck.

"No more-no more lies, Gr-Gr-Gregory," Bonnie Wickes threatened.

The video game screens flashes again to get her attention.

BONNIE.

Spring Bonnie turned to look at them.

PLEASE.

NO MORE.

The game screens retained their final message for only another moment before they shut off. All of the lights save for the emergency ones went off again. They flickered for a moment, then stilled. In the dark, the sound of metal footsteps started again. Old servos hissed. Joints creaked. Soft clicks and gentle whirs sang in a quiet undertone. The soft brown eyes came closer, then stopped about where Spring Bonnie stood.

Vanna simply held Mike to her for a moment. Will stayed nearby, aghast at the scene before him. The humans watched the endoskeleton move in the dim light. It wrapped its arms around Spring Bonnie in an embrace and angled its head in an almost kiss. Spring Bonnie remained still, either unsure of how to react, or caught in another battle between the ghosts.

A new voice spoke in a baritone to rival Freddy Fazbear's.

_I'm here, Bonnie,_ it said. _We're together again_.

Mike perked as he recognized that voice, though it took a moment to place it. It had been a garbled mess on the phone, but the pitch and timbre sounded about right. A soft gasp crackled on Spring Bonnie's speakers, before the rabbit's arms lifted and awkwardly wrapped around the endoskeleton. The golden animatronic rested its head on the endoskeleton's shoulder.

"My F-F-F-Freddy-Freddy-beaaaaaar!" Bonnie Wickes sobbed.

The endoskeleton pressed its head against Spring Bonnie's mask.

_We'll make things right_, Freddy Wickes told her. _And we'll do it together_.


	46. Picking Up the Pieces

_Power: 37%_

_Auto update date and time: 11/14/1993 02:07:03am_

* * *

In the stillness of the room, the only movement came from rattling metal, with relieved sobs cutting in and out from Spring Bonnie's speaker. Not even Greg's weak whimpers could be heard under them. Spring Bonnie tightly gripped the endoskeleton, leaving bloody handprints on its silvery frame. She nuzzled the mask against its head.

"...It's so-s-s-s-so good to have you back," Bonnie Wickes whispered.

_It's good to _be _back,_ Freddy Wickes said.

Spring Bonnie lifted her head and gently nuzzled her nose against the endoskeleton's upper lip.

"I m-m-m-missed you so much."

_You've always known I was here,_ Freddy Wickes told her, _an' I've always tried to be with you_.

Jeremy politely remained quiet to allow the couple a moment. Mike gently pulled away from Vanna and hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the stage. She let him go, but joined him, with Vesper re-appearing beside her. Nearby, Will watched the animatronic duo.

"...Fred?" he whispered. "Is that…?"

If Freddy Wickes heard him, he made no indication. The endoskeleton gently set its hands on Spring Bonnie's cheeks. It aligned its eyes with the rabbit's empty sockets.

_I'm not goin' anywhere, Bonnie. Not ever again_.

A loud, broken sob crackled over the rabbit's speakers, with a series of smaller, quieter sobs following it. The endoskeleton eyes took in the living shine of human eyes behind Spring Bonnie's silver discs, and the soft sounds of human agony under the mask.

_Now let 'im go,_ Freddy Wickes said. _You've had your peace, an' he won't forget your wrath anytime soon_.

Spring Bonnie slowly nodded, then nuzzled the nose against his head again.

"...D-d-d-damn you for being the-being the reasonable one," Bonnie Wickes said sweetly.

The smile was heard in her husband's voice as he spoke again.

_Married you for your fire, Bonnie, and that meant learnin' when to contain it_.

Foxy raised his hook.

_Isn't too late to gut 'im like a fish_.

"No," Vanna, Vesper, and Mike said firmly.

Foxy lowered his hook.

_Fine, ye spoilsports_.

_Greg's got a lot to atone for,_ Freddy Wickes said. _With the crimes on 'is head, prison'll be kinder in that he'll live, but every moment behind bars'll be its own punishment_.

Spring Bonnie nodded, then turned to Will.

"Get the first-first aid kit."

It took a second for Will to break out of his stupor and register the order. When he did, he quickly gave the old a rabbit a small salute, quickly falling into habits from over two decades ago.

"Yes'm."

Will then headed for the back room. Every step felt like dragging a lead weight with it as he treaded that familiar path. His back ached with uncertain relief, and an uneasy haze slowly shadowed his mind. The second he crossed the threshold, Will reached up to pull off his hat and wipe his face. He then covered his mouth to bite back any sound as he finally allowed himself a long, silent sob. After taking a private moment, Will forced it back, then went to the shelves to look for the first aid kit, and some materials to use for splints.

In the dining room, the endoskeleton gently stepped away from Spring Bonnie, while Bonnie Wickes directed some of the other animatronics. Freddy and Chica positioned themselves behind the suit, ready to grab Greg when Bonnie Wickes released him. Foxy and the purple Bonnie stood nearby in case the other two needed help. Once Will returned with the first aid kit and some long metal parts, he motioned for Mike and Vanna to assist.

Once the group situated, Spring Bonnie carefully pulled off its mask, leaving bloody handprints on either side. The moment the mask lifted, Greg took a deep, gasping breath of cool air. He practically choked on it with relief. His red face dripped with sweat and snot over his terrified features. Dried blood stuck to his neck. His disheveled blonde hair adhered itself to his sticky face. Choked, pained whimpers caught in his throat as Spring Bonnie held out the mask for Vanna to take again.

Vanna took the mask, careful to avoid the bloody handprints. She carefully set the mask on the prize counter while Mike and Will positioned themselves on each of Greg's sides. Vesper floated beside her, then hovered near the Puppet's box and disassembled body.

The spring locks began to unwind as Bonnie Wickes slowly pulled them back into their proper positions. Greg cried out in agony as the spring locks twisted away from his mangled bones, with metal cracks and moist sliding along the springs providing a sickening undertone.

The back of the suit opened again. Freddy and Chica both quickly grabbed Greg under his arms to prevent any attempt at escape. Greg winced and squirmed, more from pain than any desire to be free.

_Oh, be still,_ Chica scolded him.

Mike and Will carefully guided Greg's arms from the sleeves, trying to mitigate the damage as much as they could. While they worked, Vanna took an alcohol wipe from the kit to wipe down her hands, before she pulled on a pair of vinyl gloves and readied a fistful of gauze.

Greg tried not to move or scream again as his broken arms slid along the sharp parts of the suit, with varied success. Spring Bonnie's torso remained bent forward, but she worked with the others to get him out as safely as possible. A mangled mess of torn cloth, rendered flesh, and broken bone slowly slid from the animatronic arms. The sleeves of Greg's uniform shirt were practically dyed a deep crimson red. His shoulders hung loose in Freddy and Chica's grip, both of them still slightly dislocated from their prior abuse to make him fit inside. Several parts of his uniform were torn, with small cuts all over his body.

Once his arms were freed, Vanna came over with the gauze to staunch the bleeding on his right arm. Mike grabbed a second fistful of gauze and began to assist her. Greg bit his lips and screamed behind them as they tended to his broken limbs.

"Fuck, this is a lot of blood," Vanna said as she worked.

Will quickly pulled on his own set of vinyl gloves and set about working on his other arm.

"Don't focus on that," he said as he carefully laid a makeshift splint.

As they worked, Foxy menacingly kept an eye on Greg, his hook at the ready, while the purple Bonnie circled the tables to assess the damage. He wandered to one of the tables and started to move it back into place.

"Leave it," Mike told him.

He held a splint in place as Vanna carefully wrapped it in gauze. Bonnie's ears twitched in irritation at the command.

_Why?_ he asked, wanting to make the room right again.

"It's a crime scene now," Mike said. "The police are going to want to investigate it when they get there."

"Speaking of," Vanna said, as she wrapped another layer, "we should call."

"In a moment," Will said. "Let's make sure Greg's taken care of first."

He placed another splint and wrapped it. In took only a few moments to finish the makeshift casts. Once they finished, the purple Bonnie circled behind Greg and gripped his waist so he could help Freddy and Chica pull Greg from the suit. Spring Bonnie slowly tilted back up to stand properly. Several clicks and whirs indicated the animatronic parts sliding back into place as Bonnie Wickes reset it back into its robotic mode.

"M-m-much better," she said cheerfully.

_Agreed,_ Jeremy said. _It's crowded enough in here_.

Spring Bonnie's headless body walked over to the prize counter to retrieve the head. A few soft clicks indicated its reconnection. Whole again, the old rabbit made its way back to the endoskeleton and made a point to cling to it once more.

Greg's legs shook as the animatronics held him up. The purple Bonnie let go of his waist to while Freddy shifted to allow Chica to brace him under his arms.

"Help 'im lie down and get his legs up," Will said. "Keep the blood circlin' so he doesn't pass out on us. I'm gonna get 'im some water. Mike, Vanna, clean up what you can with what's left in the kit."

Mike stood and carefully headed for the boys' bathroom to get Greg's blood off his hands. Freddy and Chica nodded in affirmation and did as instructed while Will headed to the kitchen. Greg winced and whimpered at each small movement. Once they got him situated, Freddy crouched down and shifted his grip on Greg's ankles to keep them properly elevated. He glared down at Greg as though daring him to try anything.

Greg lied still as Chica gently set his arms on the cool tile. He closed his eyes and simply channeled his focus on breathing. Chica then walked over to Pirate Cove to retrieve Dulcie.

Mike returned and knelt down beside the murderer. He then opened the small bottle of disinfectant and a cotton ball. Vanna started to disinfect the cuts, and rationed the few bandages for the worst of them. She tried not to think of what could have remained on those coils as she worked. Freddy kept watch over his prisoner as the humans tended to him.

Greg hissed as the disinfectant stung, and shuddered away from her. Vanna frowned, but kept working. She pulled his tie off and tossed it aside, then started to unbutton his shirt to get to a nasty-looking cut on his chest. Greg made a noise of protest, but had neither the strength nor the dexterity to stop her.

Under the shirt, something gleamed. Mike caught the chain first as Vanna pulled the shirt away, then what hung on it.

In his visions, he never saw the ring for certain, only felt it slip away. But as Mike stared at the ring on the chain, there was no doubt in his mind it was the same one. It was a thick gold band with an inscription of sorts inside, meant for a finger too big for even Greg's thumb. Mike grabbed the ring, and in a swift motion, pulled the chain up over Greg's head.

"...N-no..." Greg managed. "Don't…"

Mike ignored him and looked at the ring in his hand. A dull shine caught the light as he tilted the ring it to read the inscription:

_Our dream came true. 6-19-1963_

"Freddy…" Mike said quietly.

_Yes?_ both Freddies asked, almost simultaneously.

"Sorry," Mike said. "Forgot there were two of you now."

He stood up and walked to Spring Bonnie and the endoskeleton.

"I'm pretty sure this is yours."

The endoskeleton held out its hand, with Spring Bonnie shifting her head on its shoulder to better see. Mike carefully handed over the ring, and noted Spring Bonnie's eyelids raise. The endoskeleton held up the ring to read the inscription himself. Its eyelids tilted in sadness.

_Always wondered why he took it,_ Freddy Wickes said.

A sharp gasp crackled on Spring Bonnie's speakers.

"He stole your _w-w-w-wedding ring?_"

She turned to Greg, who simply let out a weak groan. Spring Bonnie's face once twisted into a look of hate. She let go of the endoskeleton to start stomping towards him.

"You'd better-better hope there's a Hell, Gregory," Bonnie Wickes said, "because w-w-w-when I'm-when _I'm_ through with you-"

Spring Bonnie suddenly halted, unable to take another step. She turned her head to see the endoskeleton gripped her shoulder, locking her in place.

_Bonnie, enough_, Freddy Wickes told her. _What's done is done_.

He handed the ring back to Mike.

_It's of no use to me now,_ Freddy Wickes told him, _but I'm thinkin' the police'll wanna see it_.

Mike nodded and gently placed the ring in his breast pocket. Will came back with the water and a damp paper towel. He knelt down beside Greg and wiped his face, then carefully helped him drink. Once he finished, he turned back to Spring Bonnie and the endoskeleton. Will swallowed hard before he spoke.

"...I'm still...tryin' to wrap my head 'round all this," he said softly. "Even seein' it with my own eyes...I can still hardly believe you two're here. That you've..._been_ here all this time."

The endoskeleton nodded.

_It's me, Uncle Will,_ Freddy Wickes said, the old jaw creaking with each word.

Will frowned as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Can't hear you, Fred," he said softly.

"It's us, Uncle-Uncle Will," Bonnie Wickes confirmed. "Y-y-y-your favorite niece and nephew."

Will chuckled a little.

"Circumstances bein' what they are, it's...good to see you...see you both again." He turned to the endoskeleton specifically. "I looked for you, Fred. I...I tried, but..."

The endoskeleton simply nodded again.

_I know,_ Freddy Wickes said.

He gently nuzzled Spring Bonnie's head, which elicited a soft, contented purr from the speakers. The endoskeleton turned back to Will.

_Saw you take care of Bonnie for me, Uncle Will,_ Freddy Wickes continued. _And I watched this place...wear you down, break you. Y'don't need to worry 'bout us anymore_.

Vanna stepped towards Will and repeated what his nephew told him. Will simply nodded. He sniffed hard and turned away, then pulled his hat down over his eyes. After a moment, he composed himself and turned back to Spring Bonnie and the endoskeleton. Will's voice shook a bit as he spoke.

"Always tried to-to do right by you both. Best I could do was try to...just keep your memories alive."

The endoskeleton gently held out a hand and gestured for Will to come forward. Bonnie Wickes moved one of the suit's hands to give him room, and enjoyed Greg's gasp of pain in the process. Will obeyed, and found the endoskeleton's cold metal arm around his waist and pulling him into the group.

_S'good to finally hold you both,_ Freddy Wickes said. _Havin' the building as a vessel was good for watchin' you, but it was hard, bein' all I could do. Took a good decade t'figure out I could even _do _more, let alone communicate. Just wish I figured it out when Bonnie needed me_.

Vanna transcribed for Will again as the old man awkwardly patted the endoskeleton's back. The speaker crackled on again.

"You're here-you're here now, Freddy," Bonnie Wickes said, gently, "and I _much_ prefer-prefer you th-th-this way."

She let out another purr and nuzzled the mask against the endoskeleton's head.

_This is a _little _awkward_... Jeremy said at last.

"Oh, hush," Bonnie Wickes said. "You had your-had your turn with _your_ loved one."

But she pulled the mask away from the endoskeleton's face and simply rested it on her beau's shoulder. Freddy Wickes' deep, boisterous laugh rang in the minds of all who could hear it.

Will tried to think of something else to say as he shifted out of the endoskeleton's grip.

"...Good to have you back too, Fred," he managed, "and...there's two more of our kin you've yet to meet proper."

He gestured for Vanna to come forward, and then turned to the prize counter to beckon Vesper over. Vesper gently floated over, then hovered near Spring Bonnie. The endoskeleton looked between the two twins. The jaw closed in a strange grin.

Will started down the east hall to get to the phone in the security office.

"I'll let you catch up while I call it in," he said. "In my experience, it takes a bit to send someone out to this part'o town."

Vanna watched him go, then turned back to her aunt and uncle in their robotic forms. Vesper hovered near her. The endoskeleton looked over them both.

_My time came 'fore you two were born,_ Freddy Wickes said, _but I saw the joy you brought to this place when you were little_.

Vesper grinned back.

"Puppet said you were here," she said in her strange monotone, "but we never found you. You are good at hide and seek."

That got her uncle to laugh.

_Seems we both are, Vesper,_ came Freddy Wickes' soft baritone. _I'm glad we both were found, and I'm glad Puppet kept you safe_.

Spring Bonnie gently nodded in agreement.

"Puppet has always-has always looked after what I-I-I-I loved most."

The endoskeleton then turned to look at Vanna. She gave it an awkward wave.

"H-hi, Uncle Freddy," she said.

_Vanna,_ Freddy Wickes said gently. He raised a hand, and Vanna stepped closer, allowing him to give her a brief side hug. _I...well, after what happened years ago, I can't say I expected you to ever come back, but it was a great surprise these last two nights. And lookin' at you now, it seems Bonnie's fire is still burnin' down the bloodline_.

Vanna beamed with pride.

"Thank Mike," she said softly. "He brought me here."

"More like you strong-armed your way into joining me," Mike corrected.

"Just like our friendship," Vanna sweetly shot back.

Mike smirked, then scolded the purple Bonnie for attempting to pick up a fallen chair. The rabbit let go, then made another round around the room. He gently smacked one hand to keep himself from making another attempt at fixing the mess.

_Well, however you got here, I'm glad you made it,_ Freddy Wickes said. _And Mike,_ _I think I gave you more'n your share of fright. Didn't mean that, but to put it in simple terms, it takes a bit to "tune in," and then I gotta adjust the dial a bit. Spooked more'n my share of folks in previous attempts, so thanks for bein' steadfast enough to stick around_.

Mike simply gave him a weary nod.

_And thanks,_ Freddy Wickes continued, _for bringin' our family together, even while searchin' for your own_.

Mike shot a glance to Spring Bonnie.

"We both needed answers," he said quietly.

_We all did,_ Jeremy piped in.

The voice box crackled back on.

"Vanna."

Vanna turned to Spring Bonnie.

"Y-yes, Aunt Bonnie?"

Spring Bonnie lifted a hand toward her face, then stopped after seeing the blood trails left on the golden fingers. She awkwardly lowered it.

"Thank-th-th-thank you," Bonnie Wickes whispered. "It was nice-nice t-t-to see you again."

Vanna tried to blink back tears as a bitter smile formed over her lips.

"It was nice to remember you."

"I just wish-just wish I got to see you g-g-grow-g-grow up," her aunt said.

Vanna reached up to wipe her eyes. Spring Bonnie pantomimed picking up Vesper, who floated with her until she was "sitting" in the crook of the rabbit's arm. Vesper moved her arms around the robot's neck, part of her elbows phasing into the shoulders.

"I can't remem-em-em-ember the last time I saw-saw you two together," Bonnie Wickes said.

"It's been over twenty years," Vanna whispered.

Vesper left a ghostly kiss on the rabbit's cheek, then floated a little higher so her gaze could be level with the Spring Bonnie's.

"...Are you happy now, Aunt Bunny?" she asked. "Now that you found your Freddy-bear?"

"M-mo-m-m-more than I've been in a-in a while," Bonnie Wickes answered. "Thank you, Vesper."

Vesper smiled, and gave the rabbit another spectral hug around her neck.

"You'll take care of her for me, won't you, Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Freddy?" Vanna asked.

Spring Bonnie and the endoskeleton both nodded.

"I promise," said Bonnie Wickes.

_Of course,_ Freddy Wickes agreed.

Vanna reached for Vesper, and shuddered a little at the sudden coolness of her touch. She forced up a smile.

"I finally found you," she said. "Sorry it took over twenty years."

"I knew you would," Vesper answered.

The little ghost moved to her sister and hugged her. Vanna ignored the chill that came with her presence, and did her best to return it.

"I'll see you again," she promised.

Vesper nodded and let her go. For the first time, the tears on her face ceased. She smiled brightly and touched Vanna.

"Tag!"

"Hey!"

"You won hide and seek," Vesper protested.

"...Yes," Vanna said, softly. "I guess I did."

Vesper smiled at her sister, then frowned, looking over at the present box.

"...Will Puppet be okay?"

"Yes," Spring Bonnie promised.

She looked over towards Greg, who had since settled into something resembling rest despite his broken arms.

"I believe we have-we have its pieces to retrieve."

"Already on it," Mike said.

Freddy kept hold of his legs as Mike approached. He knelt down beside Greg to search his pockets. Greg slowly lifted his head watch him, still a bit lightheaded from the blood loss.

"Wh-what are you…?"

Mike ignored him and simply pulled out his keys.

"Retrieving stolen property," he said.

Greg glared upon realization. Mike then tossed to the keys to Vanna, who gave Greg a mocking salute and headed out the front door.

"Even-even after all these years," Bonnie Wickes said, glowering at Greg, "you're _still_ trying to st-st-steal my work."

Greg ignored her.

"...You should have just...let them kill me," he said, taking careful breaths between the pain.

_It's still an option,_ Foxy said.

Mike shot him a small glare.

_What?_ Foxy asked with a shrug.

Mike shook his head.

"They had a _very_ good reason not to."

_I can't think of a worse Hell than being stuck with him for eternity,_ Jeremy said.

Will returned a few moments later.

"They're on their way," he said. "We got about ten minutes."

Greg rested his head back on the floor. A devious smile formed on his lips.

"The police...come," he said, working to stay focused, "they find me here. You t-tell them...tell them you found the murderer. ...Then what?"

"Then you go to jail," Will said simply.

"With what proof?" Greg asked. "Nothing's been recorded. There aren't any...surveillance tapes because the manager...is a cheapskate."

"Convenient," Will told him, "but we took other measures."

Mike reached into his pocket to pull out the tape recorder. He shoved it in Greg's face.

"Thanks for confessing," he said.

"Might want to...take a closer look at it," Greg said.

Mike did as he said, and turned the tape recorder to look at it. The entire front was cracked and digging into the cassette dock. He remembered how it dug into his side when he fought Greg, but hadn't been concerned with it at the time. It probably cracked against the floor when Greg pinned him. Mike yanked open the cassette dock. To his horror, he found the small tape just as cracked, the plastic caving in.

In fury, he threw the broken tape recorder at Greg's chest. It smacked into him, and earned a pained laugh from the murderer.

"Nice try," Greg said.

"Mike," Will said, "do me a favor and get the cupcake from the office."

Mike gave him a strange look, before he remembered something. With a new vigor and a confident smirk, he got up and dashed down the east hall. Will then casually strode over to the Puppet's box and looked behind it. A moment later, a triumphant, "Fuck yeah!" echoed down the hall, followed by Mike's returning footsteps. He held the cupcake as carefully as his firstborn child.

Will shot him a brief smile. Greg glared at him, before he turned back to Mike. His eyes narrowed in on the pink frosting.

"What did he do?"

"This," Mike said, reaching into the cupcake.

It took a moment to loosen the object, as it was wedged firmly against the curvature of the inside frosting, but when he jostled it loose, Mike pulled out one of the devices Will showed him and Vanna earlier. It was a silver metal circle, with metal wires crosshatched across the middle like a speaker, and a small black box attached to the back. A little red light on the box indicated it was on.

Spring Bonnie's already glowing eyes lit up even more with recognition. The speaker from the body crackled to life.

"My audio-audio activation sensors!"

"Yep," Will said. He pulled another from behind Puppet's box. "Maybe you remember these, Greg."

He watched as Greg's face turned white, then red, then white again.

"Bon had 'em in mind for a new line of robots when she was ready to expand to a sister location," Will said, turning to Spring Bonnie. "Wasn't that right?"

"Y-yes," Bonnie confirmed. "They were m-m-meant to record and playback a child's voice-voice for entertainment pur-purposes. I nixed the idea when I-I-I-I realized it could be used-used to copy a parent's voice and trick them."

Will smiled.

"They also hold a lot more data than a cassette tape, and can record for...twenty-four hours? Got two more hidden 'round here."

He turned to Greg.

"And if I recall, you told me earlier that you were involved with Vesper's disappearance."

"And he told _me_ about Jeremy's death," Mike added. "In detail. Right by the cupcake."

Greg looked between them both to shoot them death glares. He ground his teeth against each other.

_He was in the back room earlier,_ Jeremy said. _He didn't say much before he shut the suit down, but maybe there's audio of him tampering with it_.

Mike took the cue and looked at Will.

"Is there another one in the back room?"

"Should be on Fred's endoskeleton," Will answered, looking over at his nephew's current vessel, "and one on the main stage."

The endoskeleton glanced down at its chest. Freddy Wickes recalled where he watched Gwen Carlisle place it, and directed one arm to reach into the metal ribcage for its prize.

_This one?_ he asked, as he held it out for Will to take.

Will grinned, having a guess as to what his nephew just said.

"That's the one."_  
_  
Greg gaped at Will.

"..._How?_" he managed, after a time. "_When_? I-I looked at the...at the cupcake just this morning! It was empty!"

"None'ya," Will told him.

Inwardly, he thanked Gwen for following his instructions, and Waylon's forceful, anal tendencies to keep his employees on their schedules, including their breaks...where Gwen would fill in for Greg on his.

The door jingle rang as Vanna came back in, using the bottom of her polo as a makeshift bag to hold Puppet's pieces. Goosebumps covered her bare arms, and her teeth chattered as she hastened her pace to the prize counter.

"Shit, it's cold outside," she said. "Should've grabbed my coat first."

Greg desperately thought of another avenue.

"S-so the police...listen to that recording," he said. "They're not...they're not going to believe that _ghosts_ controlled those suits! That they did...this."

He slowly lifted his left arm.

"They'll hear our fight," Mike pointed out, "and know you started it."

"They'll also hear us yelling at Aunt Bonnie to stop," Vanna added.

Greg chose to ignore Mike, responding only to Vanna.

"Speculation," he said. "For all they'll know...you did it, and blamed the robots. ...Or _did_ something to them."

Spring Bonnie's speaker crackled with amused laughter.

"Oh, Gr-Gregory," said Bonnie, reaching up to tap Spring Bonnie's forehead. "You forget my robots' visual recording c-c-capa-c-capabilities."

Greg smirked.

"They're also encrypted, and the software to _un_encrypt them hasn't been used in years."

Will frowned.

"...He's right," he said. "That's why I got th' audio activation sensors. The computer with Bon's software gave out years ago."

He glared at Greg.

"But we got your confessions and the fight. That still might be worth somethin' to the right judge."

Spring Bonnie's eyes and smile widened as her laughter increased in volume. Vanna glanced at her.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"Puppet-Puppet can help them," Spring Bonnie said.

"How?" Vanna asked.

"Puppet has a hi-hi-d-den-hidden drive," her aunt answered. "One with all of my-all of my best secrets. I'll sh-show you how to fix it, and then its software can be-can be accessed."

"Toolbox is in th' back," Will said, pointing a thumb to the back room.

Vanna wasted no time, and ran to go get it. Spring Bonnie turned to Mike.

"Get something to write-write on," she instructed.

Mike nodded. He set the cupcake and its treasure down on the prize counter and searched the room, finding a pen at the hostess stand and a paper menu from a stack underneath. Bonnie Wickes had him write down access instructions to get to the drive, as well as a username and password.

"Puppet can access it on its-on its own for its own purposes," Bonnie Wickes said, "such as overriding an unauthorized change and retreiv-v-v-ing information, but it cannot share that infor-for-for-mation without manual ac-ac-access. Once it's powered back on, it can-it can be connected to a computer. Once the information is accessed-accessed manually, the encryption softw-a-a-are can be downloaded."

Greg glared at the Spring Bonnie suit, and the furious look on his face said enough. Vanna soon re-emerged with the tool kit and joined her aunt and Mike at the prize counter to begin Puppet's reassembly.

"You can't...do this!" Greg cried, trying again to free himself from the robots' grasp. "I have rights-!"

"There's a sign out by the front door warnin' 'bout surveillance," Will said, "and this particular equipment was authorized by the buildin' owner."

"Waylon wouldn't have-!"

"Who said anythin' 'bout Waylon?" Will asked. "He just manages the place. He doesn't own anything."

"Then who-?" Greg asked.

"You're lookin' at 'im."

Greg stared at Will. Mike and Vanna's heads both snapped away from their work for a second to look at Will.

"_You're_ the building owner?!" Mike asked.

"Yep."

"Then why the _hell_ are you working as the janitor?"

Will smiled, and shot him a wink.

"Didn't suspect a thing, did you, Mike?"

"I-I-I-I left it to him," Bonnie Wickes said. "There was-there was no one else I could trust."

Will nodded in agreement.

"Yep. Put it under a rebrand in '72, and just kept a low profile ever since."

His smile faded, and in that moment, he aged another decade.

"Always had a public face to keep eyes off me," Will continued. "First it was Shirley Reid. She was here for the rebrand of Fredbear's to Freddy Fazbear's, and then the...new location in '87."

His gaze went to Spring Bonnie. The suit shied away from him as Jeremy recalled his and Will's last meeting.

When his body was found.

"...She quit in early '88," Will said, turning his attention to Mike. "I don't blame 'er. Place was barely open two weeks, and we got five murders, with the last one finally confirmed."

Mike started to say something, but stopped when he saw the audio activation sensors on the counter. He simply nodded.

"Made it easier to...well, handle all th' incidents here," Will continued. "Waylon knows, but he's under contract to not say a word."

"So _that's_ why he listens to you," Mike said. "I kind of wondered about that."

"Yep," Will confirmed. "He worries 'bout the stuff I don't have time for, and I clean up the messes - and not just the cake crumbs and soda spills."

A glance to Greg.

"Gonna have to _make _one soon, though, now that I know where Fred's buried."

Greg started to say something. Chica vindictively nudged a toe into his left arm to make him scream.

_We've heard enough,_ she said cheerfully.

Freddy maintained his grip on Greg's legs while Foxy kept a watchful eye on him nearby. The purple Bonnie paced the room, every now and again stopping himself from fixing a table or picking up a fallen party hat, gently smacking at his hand instead. Mike and Vanna carefully followed Bonnie Wickes' instructions to put Puppet's pieces back in place, with Vesper hovering nearby, watching quietly as they worked.

It took a few moments to screw the servos back in, re-attach the head, and properly wire them back together. A soft power-on sound marked their success, as did the blue LED lights blinking on from the back of Puppet's empty sockets. Vesper let out a soft, delighted noise and clapped her hands. Vanna smiled at her, then started to put the tools away.

"It just needs one more thing," Mike said.

He went over to the stage and picked up the mask, then brought it back to place over the smooth endoskeleton skull. Thanks to the bent hook, it was a little loose when reattached, but it stayed in place. The crack in the forehead and a few scratches in the paint showed its battle damage.

Spring Bonnie affectionately looked over their handwork, ending at Puppet's face.

"Little one…"

A small beeping sound came from inside the mask.

_Bonnie,_ Jeremy said, _we're losing power, and fast. We need to charge_.

Spring Bonnie went quiet for a moment as Bonnie Wickes checked the battery status.

"_Sixteen percent_?" she cried. "_How_ are we-are we losing that much power?"

_It's an old suit,_ Jeremy said, _and there were some small surges when we fought over it. It also ran down pretty fast last night with just normal use_.

Spring Bonnie nodded and immediately went for the cord wrapped around the waist. Upon seeing the end, with a cut cord and metal wires inside, she cursed.

"_Gregory_," she snarled.

"That ain't gonna stop anythin'," Will said. "The police'll just have to replace it to get to the files."

_But it _does _mean we don't have much time right now,_ Jeremy said. _As soon as the power's gone, we go back in the dark_.

Spring Bonnie looked over at Mike, then back to Will.

"...Give-give-give me one minute, J-J-Jeremy," she said, "then you can have the r-r-rest of time battery."

_Thanks,_ Jeremy said. _After tonight...that means a lot_.

Will gently patted her shoulder.

"It was good to see you, Bon," he said, "and...an honor to work with you."

Spring Bonnie nodded.

"Thank-thank you for everything, Uncle Will," she said.

Will gave her a small salute. Spring Bonnie then reached for the endoskeleton. Freddy Wickes stepped quickly to close the gap and embrace his wife one last time. The broken sobs crackled back on the speakers.

_I'll see you again, Bonnie,_ Freddy Wickes promised. _I waited twenty six years for you. I can wait a little longer_.

Spring Bonnie nuzzled her nose against the endoskeleton lip.

"My-m-m-my Freddy-bear," Bonnie Wickes whispered.

They mimicked a kiss, before Spring Bonnie shifted back into its default pose. The suit froze for a moment as the ghosts shifted. The pinprick eyes faded away, then came back. Mike smiled a bit as the animatronic's expression changed to something a bit softer, and he knew his brother had taken control again.

"You bastard," he said, his smile wavering a little. "You come back just to leave me again."

The suit's smile widened a little. Spring Bonnie's mouth silently clicked up and down as Jeremy spoke.

_At least this time, I can say goodbye_.

He turned to Vanna, then to Will, before turning back to Mike.

_And I'll know you'll be taken care of_.

Mike stepped toward the suit.

"I always have been," he whispered. "Whether I wanted it or not, someone's always watched out for me."

He gave a glance to Vanna, who shot him a smile. She gave a small salute to Jeremy, who returned it with a nod. Jeremy then moved the arms around Mike. The forearms hovered just inches away to keep the night guard free of blood.

_This is goodbye,_ Jeremy said, softly, _but not forever_.

Mike somehow managed a nod and wrapped his arms around the animatronic torso.

"I know," he whispered. "It's...easier, knowing what happened. I have...I have answers now."

He reached up to wipe his eyes, trying to keep it back. Jeremy tightened his grip in assurance.

_So do I,_ he said.

The good ear drooped forward.

..._Tell Ma and Da goodbye for me?_

"I...will," Mike promised, trying not to choke up. "They'll want to...know."

He rested his head against the animatronic's chest, letting himself go numb.

"This isn't forever," he whispered. "The...investigation…we can still...after..."

Spring Bonnie shook his head.

_Mike, when this is over...I need to move on. So do you..._

Jeremy lifted a hand and gestured to the other animatronics.

..._And so do they_.

Mike followed his gesture, to Freddy steadfastly keeping Greg in place, to Chica gently petting Dulcie's frosting, to Foxy standing guard, to Bonnie circling his way back to the group.

Each of them with a child inside, just as trapped as the others. His eyes found Vesper still hovering near her sister, with Puppet lying on the prize counter, still powering on. He knew what needed to be done to free them once the police finished up here.

"...Damn you for being right," Mike whispered.

_I'm the older brother. It's my job to be_.

Jeremy set the clean hand under Mike's chin and gently lifted his face.

_Thanks for everything, Mike_.

Mike forced up a smile and gave him a small nod. Jeremy let him go, then moved the Spring Bonnie suit by the prize counter. He sat down against it, watching the rest of the room.

"Goodbye Jeremy, Aunt Bonnie," Vanna said, softly. "Rest well when the battery runs down."

_It was nice to meet you, Vanna, for the short time I got to,_ Jeremy told her. _I'm glad Mike found a good friend in my absence_.

Vanna smiled.

"It was nice to meet you too. Sorry about the cupcake."

That got a small laugh from Jeremy.

_Don't worry about it_.

_Get some rest, lad,_ Foxy said. _You earned it. And t' Bonnie, this old pirate salutes ye_.

He made the appropriate gesture.

_We'll take it from here,_ Freddy promised.

Bonnie Wickes took over the suit again.

"Th-thank you. All of you."

The ghostly pinpricks faded away, leaving only the blank silver discs in the hollow sockets. A moment later, the gentle power-down sound filled the air.

Not long after that, red and blue lights shone through the front windows.


	47. The Beginning of the End

**Sunday, November 14, 1993 **

Mike sat on the edge of an ambulance, a blanket around his shoulders as he tried to process everything that happened. One of the paramedics gave him a temporary fix for his nose with the supplies on hand and treated some of his other injuries. His body ached like hell and it hurt to breathe, thanks to the bruising around his ribcage. The paramedics determined nothing aside from his nose was broken, and allowed him his turn to speak to the officers once they finished their assessment.

That was an hour or two ago.

The moment the police arrived, everything descended into madness. He could only imagine how they felt walking into the scene before them: the animatronics, before thought to be confined to their stage, now all over the scene, with one assisting an injured man with express purpose, while two kept watch, ensuring the retention of their prisoner. A large purple rabbit wandering around the room with an air of nervous resistance and smacking its hand, like it wanted to do _something_, but couldn't. An even older animatronic rabbit resting against the prize counter, shut down and partially covered in blood, where they undoubtedly put two-and-two together with the injured man's wounds, and an old endoskeleton standing near the stage.

That was before they noticed the deformed little ghost girl flickering in and out of sight.

Vesper proved herself to be more than an illusion when she touched some of their hands and left her ghostly chill. The following chaos of rightfully freaked out police officers and paramedics forced her to disappear into Puppet's box, where she wouldn't be seen. Will somehow diffused the whole thing before it got too out of hand, but Mike was certain he overheard the police chief mention she'd leave _that_ particular weirdness out of the report.

He tightened the blanket around his shoulders as he let his mind continue to process. His fingers brushed over his security badge. Mike didn't remember when he retrieved it, only that he showed it to the officers at some point as evidence of his position. He also gave them Freddy Wickes' wedding ring. Will took over explaining its significance and offered to get his copy of the missing person's report.

Greg had since been taken to the nearest hospital with a police escort. Despite their best efforts, he needed immediate medical attention. Mike overheard the paramedics on-scene mention Greg's luck that he didn't bleed out as much as they feared as they set him up for transport. As they wheeled him away, the bastard was still lucid enough to claim his right to silence, not that it would do him much good for long.

With Greg taken care of, Bonnie, Foxy, Freddy, and Chica all returned to their stages, their task complete for the moment. It unnerved the officers and paramedics at how calculated and deliberately they moved, something Mike quickly chalked up to facial recognition software and artificial intelligence. He knew they'd make a more official decision once they went over the recordings, but after the debacle with Vesper, it was wise to not bring up the ghosts. It didn't make the animatronics' watchful eyes any less discomforting as they surveyed the room, observing the officers as they went about their investigation.

Mike shot a glance at his watch.

3:46am.

"How are you feeling?"

Mike glanced up. Vanna stood beside him, holding her own blanket around her shoulders.

"Like hell," Mike muttered.

Vanna looked over to a group of officers who were still talking with Will. From the snippets they caught and the device in his hand, he was explaining how to get the data from the audio activation sensors.

"I can't believe it's over," Vanna said. "After all these years, everything just…not really fell into place, but just kind of...came together? If that makes sense."

"Yeah," Mike said. "I know what you mean."

He shifted a bit for comfort.

"But it's not over yet. There's still the investigation, the trial…"

"The beginning of the end, then," Vanna corrected. "At least it's in sight."

Mike nodded in agreement. He pulled a hand from under the blanket and reached for her. Vanna took his hand with a small smile and squeezed it.

"Thanks for trusting me," she said, quietly.

Mike nodded.

"Thanks for being there for me," he whispered. "And not...even just tonight. Ever since we met...you've always had my back, whether I wanted it or not. You were there for me even when I pushed everyone else away. When I couldn't...handle things."

"Someone's got to watch your stubborn ass," Vanna said, coolly.

She let go of her playful tone, and picked up a more somber one.

"But I knew the moment I saw you that you needed someone. When you moved in next door, I saw someone lost in his own thoughts and struggling to even exist. I didn't know what happened then, just that I saw sadness and longing. And just like that, I decided you needed a friend."

Vanna smiled a little, though it wavered.

"...I wasn't trying to replace him," she whispered. "I just wanted to see you smile."

"I know," Mike told her.

He glanced over to the building, up at the flashing sign where Freddy's eyes lingered longer than they should have. Police tape now covered the entrance, a good chunk of the parking lot was blocked off, and once in a while, he saw an officer inside pass by. Mike let his mind go blank for a moment, before a thought came to him. He began to laugh, one that threatened to shift to a sob. Mike reached up to rub his temples, still helplessly laughing.

"It's...it's funny," he said, trying to force it back.

"What's funny?" Vanna asked.

Mike gave himself a moment, then ran his hand down his face, the strange laughter dying down.

"He did the _exact same thing_," Mike told her, "when I lost my parents."

His hand settled over his lips, his fingers clawing into his cheeks to keep it there. He shuddered as he forced back another pitiful laugh and took another moment to calm down.

"Both of you just...decided, 'hey, look at this...this poor bastard. I'm gonna make him smile'," he said. "And then you did, d-damn what I thought about it."

The laughter came back, more faintly this time. Mike covered his mouth again as they shifted to weak whimpers.

"...What did I...what did I d-do to...deserve such good friends?"

Vanna took a seat beside him and pulled him into her arms.

"You helped me find Vesper," she whispered, "and you lead me to a part of my family that I didn't even know existed."

She rested her head over his.

"We made you smile because we wanted to," she said, "and you repaid it by being the friend we know you are."

Mike nodded. He kept his hand over his mouth and swallowed a sob as he leaned into her, struggling to find any more words to say. He settled on just being in her presence as he allowed himself to go numb.

Neither of them noticed a new car pulling up, or a door slamming.

"_SCHMIDT!_"

Mike and Vanna winced as they turned toward the source of the screeching. Will and some of the officers looked up too as Waylon Kent stormed over to his employee. Even in just the glow of the flashing police lights, his face looked like a plum. Mike groaned internally, and braced himself for the incoming tirade.

"What the _HELL_ were you thinking?" Waylon demanded. "You-!"

"I _KNOW!_" Mike screamed, for once not letting Waylon finish his sentence.

He pushed himself from the ambulance and ignored Vanna's attempts to pull him back as he marched over to face the belligerent manager.

Maybe it was the pent-up stress of the last week. Maybe it was the realization of the next possible word that was likely going to fall out of Waylon's mouth, and the inevitability of what would follow. Maybe his give-a-damn finally broke beyond repair.

No matter the reason, Mike approached Waylon with express purpose as he yelled:

"I'm fucking _FIRED_!"

He reached up to yank off his badge, wincing as he moved. He then tossed the cheap metal at Waylon's feet. Waylon gaped at him for a moment.

"Schmidt…"

One of the officers started to head toward what seemed to be an escalating situation. With the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through him, Mike relished in the freedom to tell his now ex-boss off.

"I'm _done_ with this fucking place!" he continued, gesturing wildly towards the building beside him. "I'm _done_ locking myself in that dinky office and hoping the damn power lasts! I'm _done_ being hunted down by crazy robots! Oh, and I helped catch your killer, so you're _fucking welcome!_"

"_I_ _know that!_" Waylon said, finally getting a word in. "I was just going to say you could have gotten yourself killed, and I'm glad you're alive!"

He took a deep breath, then reached up to rub his temples. The officer who had been approaching stopped. He awkwardly hung back as he watched the tension between the two men suddenly dissipate. Waylon took notice of him, and instinctively went into damage control mode. He gave the officer a quick thanks, an identification as the head manager, and an assurance that his tiff with his employee was under control. The officer nodded, but stayed put, just in case. Waylon then turned back to Mike.

"I was...worried about you," he said. "No sane person works a full week here, and I don't like getting calls in the middle of the night about my employees getting hurt."

"Who called-?"

"Doesn't matter," Waylon said. "Are you all right?"

"I'll live," Mike said.

"Good," Waylon said, gruffly.

Mike smirked a bit. The fire in him died down.

"...Thanks," he said. "That actually means a lot."

He took a breath.

"But I'm still fired?"

"Damn right, you are," Waylon said, almost proudly. "You're reckless, foul-mouthed, and keep giving me attitude. You only had a job because you showed up to do it, and did it better than the last guy."

He crossed his arms.

"And after that stunt you pulled tonight, you're a liability."

Mike actually laughed.

"Never thought I'd be happy to hear that."

"You're off your rocker, Schmidt."

"And then some."

Waylon shook his head.

"It wouldn't matter, anyway. I had enough to get us through the end of the year, but after this fiasco, we're done."

"And it's probably for the better," Mike said. "Let this miserable place die off, and let the ghosts rest."

"That's only a rumor," Waylon muttered. "Ghosts don't exist."

Mike looked over to Vanna, who returned it knowingly.

"Metaphorical ghosts," she said with a shrug.

Waylon looked over to her, properly noticing her for the first time. He blinked a few times, trying to determine if what he saw was real. He saw that face daily, smiling from a picture in the manager's office.

"...Bonnie?" he whispered in disbelief. "Bonnie Wickes?"

Vanna simply gave him a warm smile. She watched his eyes widen and his mouth gape like a fish...then broke into a laugh, unable to keep it up as the manager practically gave himself an aneurism.

"Nah, just messing with you. She was my aunt."

Vanna gave him a devious grin.

"But the resemblance is pretty uncanny, huh?"

Waylon stared at her for another moment, then turned away, throwing up his hands.

"I quit," he said. "I don't even want to know."

That sent both Mike and Vanna into a fit of laughter, to which Mike clutched his sore ribs, even as another bout of laughter surged through him. Waylon shook his head as he made his way to Will, who was just finishing up with the officers. Will gave him a weary smile as he intercepted Waylon.

"Thanks for comin'," Will said.

"When my phone rings in the middle of the night, it's probably important," Waylon muttered.

"Couldn't be helped," Will said. "There's been an incident, and we're upper management."

He gave Waylon a quick rundown of the night's events. Waylon already knew some of it from the initial call, but he grew more grim with each new added detail.

"Has it gotten to the news yet?" he asked.

"Chief Galloway is tryin' to keep a lid on it for now," Will said, "but we both know it's gonna make tomorrow's evening edition."

He frowned.

"_Another_ incident at Freddy Fazbear's," he muttered. "That alone'll get folks' attention."

Waylon shook his head with a sigh.

"Guess we'll have to get started on a statement," he said, "and the paperwork."

He sobered a little.

"...How are you holding up, William?"

Will's attention briefly went to the ambulance, where Mike and Vanna had since settled down and casually talked amongst themselves, then to the police tape at the front door. He turned back to Waylon.

"It's been a long night," Will said, "and I'm already weary from knowin' this long ride ain't over just yet, but I also haven't felt better in years."

He smiled a little.

"I'll rest a lot easier now, knowing the man behind all this has finally been caught."

Will gestured back to the night guard and his great-niece, both of whom now hesitantly laughed about something else.

"And I'm not the only one. All kinds of old wounds've been ripped open this week."

He looked back at Waylon.

"More'n that," Will said, "many of 'em can finally start to heal."

Waylon simply nodded.

"Schmidt's right," he said. "I think it's time this place closed once and for all. I don't think we'll ever recover from this."

"We'll see what the future holds," Will said, quietly. "For now, I think it's time we all got some rest."


	48. Family Reunion

**Sunday, November 14, 1993**

The rest of the night came and went in a blur of officers, words spoken, hospital rooms, and weariness as the morning sun crept up into the sky. Mike looked out the window as Vanna drove. He refused further treatment at Freddy's, and upon gaining permission to leave from the officers, Vanna took him to the hospital to be properly seen. Mike stared out the window, his nose properly bandaged now, and his body aching less from the painkillers they gave him. His badge once more hung at his shirt pocket. Will had picked it up and handed it to him to keep, as there was no longer a need for it. Mike still wasn't sure why he took it.

Vanna's little black Chevy cruised down the street. Mike's car remained in the Freddy's parking lot, where it would stay until he healed a little more.

"You're sure you want to do this _now_?" Vanna asked as they approached a streetlight. "I'm sure they'll understand if you got some rest first."

Mike shook his head, his hand running over a round bulge in his pants pocket that had been forgotten in last night's excitement. The old watch felt tight against his leg, his only proof to Jeremy's fate.

"I want them to hear it from me first," he said. "They deserve that."

Vanna bit back a yawn.

"Can we at least get some coffee?" she asked.

"Sure," Mike said quietly.

He watched the buildings and streets pass by. As soon as Vanna finished their caffeine detour, he guided her to the other end of town. Much like the path to Will's place, after a while, the shops and buildings gave way to a small neighborhood surrounding the town. They drove in near-silence as they drank their coffee. After a time, they passed a shopping center where a Laser Tag building stood prominently in the center. Mike pointedly looked away from it.

Six years ago, a new Freddy Fazbear's Pizza opened where that Laser Tag stood now, and closed within two weeks of opening.

Vanna's hand found his long enough to give it a gentle squeeze, before she made a turn at his direction. At the next red light, she chugged down the rest of her coffee. After that, they entered the nearby neighborhood, passing small two-storied houses and weaving through the blocks until they came to one Mike hadn't seen since last Christmas.

Rose bushes that since shed their peach petals for the upcoming winter surrounded the old house in a thorn fence. Both the front of the yard and the side advance from the driveway sported white gates leading up to the graying, lavender two-story house. The old porch swing drifted back and forth behind the white porch railing. After debating for a moment about whether or not to park on the curb, Mike directed Vanna to the driveway.

For a long moment, they sat there in silence. Mike let the heat numb him a little as he stared at the garage door, bracing himself for what needed to be done.

"...Want me to come with?" Vanna asked.

Mike blinked a few times, then took a deep breath as he considered it. After a moment, he nodded. Vanna let him get out first before she killed the engine and followed, letting him take the lead.

The heat died on Mike's face as he stepped into the wind, slamming the door behind him. He pushed past the gate, holding it open for Vanna before he slowly made his way up the stone path heading to the front door. The porch steps creaked under their feet, worn and weakening. Taking another breath, Mike braced himself again. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets as a few second thoughts crept into his mind.

Vanna took initiative and reached over his shoulder to ring the doorbell.

It took a moment before they heard footsteps approach, and a soft feminine Irish voice call out, "Coming, coming!"

Mike forced his gaze forward when the deadbolt released on the other side. He sucked in another breath at the click of the latch, and let it go as the front door started to open. Vanna remained slightly behind him, her hand barely grazing his arm.

A soft, surprised gasp brought Mike's attention back to the now open door.

He didn't even see Moira at first, only winced as her arms tightly encircled his body in a loving embrace. The warm scents of her perfume mingled with the thick scented candles she kept everywhere that made the whole house smell like vanilla and apples. He saw flecks of brown and silver hair against his neck, and the pink terry cloth robe at her back. Once the shock wore off, Mike shifted his arms just enough to return it, holding her just as tightly.

He missed her too.

"Oh, M-Michael, love," she whispered, choking back emotion. "I didn't expect to-to see you this soon."

Mike didn't say anything as his brain struggled to process a sea of thoughts and emotions that struggled to find shore. Moira ran a hand through his hair, then looked up, noticing her foster son hadn't come alone.

"...And who's this?"

Vanna awkwardly hung back a little, having never actually met any of Mike's family in the few years she'd known him, until the other night. She lifted a hand in a faint wave.

"Hey, Mrs. Fitzgerald," she said, coming right out with it. "I'm Vanna."

Moira let go of Mike and craned her neck up to see her. She forced up a smile.

"Oh, hello, hello!" she said. "Michael's told me a bit about you. Didn't expect you to be so tall, but aren't you a bonnie one!"

Vanna shifted her foot against the porch and forced up a smile at the compliment, choosing to ignore Moira's naively ironic wording.

"Thanks," she said quickly.

"Ma," Mike said, "we came because we have something to tell you."

"I'm sure you do," Moira said, cheerfully, giving a knowing glance to Vanna, before turning back to Mike.

She let out another soft gasp as she took him in again, before moving a hand to his cheek, gently tilting his head to examine his broken nose, and the accompanying bruise along his cheekbone.

"Michael, what happened to your face?"

"It's related to why I'm here," Mike said. "...Can we come in?"

Moira's smile dropped upon hearing that. She nodded quickly as she pulled away and took his hands to lead him inside. Mike let her, moving like a ghost as he stepped into the foyer, with Vanna right behind him. They took it in as Moira got the door.

The main hall stretched before them, with a small altar to the Virgin Mary against one wall. Family pictures dotted the hall on both sides, leading into the dining room. Most of them showed Mike and Jeremy in various stages of childhood. The most prominent one stood across from the altar, a Sears portrait of the two of them when they were both in high school, their smiling faces all but dominating the hall.

To the right, Vanna caught parts of the living room in the corner of her eye, particularly the phone on the wall marking the midpoint between the living room and the foyer, and parts of a bookshelf. Beside her, Mike felt his eyes drawn to the stairs on the left, heading up to the bedrooms. A chill ran through him with the finality that one of them would always remain empty.

"Michael?"

Moira's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and back to reality. Mike turned back to his foster mother. Her face hovered between worry and relief, her lips twitching as they forced up a smile, her brown eyes shifting as she looked him over. Her short brown hair bobbed around her face and grazed her shoulders, and her floral nightdress, pink robe, and starts of wrinkles in her face marked her as a warm, proper matron.

"Is everything all right?" Moira asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Mike blinked a few times as she reached for him. Before he could answer, her fingers gently went for his shoulders.

"Here, love," she said. "Let me take your coat."

Mike didn't have it in him to fight her as Moira quickly divested it from his shoulders. He turned away from her so she could pull it away and caught a glimmer of gold in the corner of his eye. Mike remained turned away from her so she wouldn't see the Freddy's badge...or the blood still caked down the front of his shirt.

Maybe he should have taken Vanna's advice to come later. At least he could have cleaned up first.

Moira then held out an expectant hand to Vanna, who shrugged out of her own coat and handed it over. Vanna watched the older woman's eyes widen as they gaped at her chest.

"What?" she asked. "I know they're kind of big, but-"

Her eyes followed Moira's to the gold embroidery depicting a bear and a bunny. A few small scattered bloodstains darkened the already red fabric.

"...Oh," Vanna said, quickly understanding. "That. Long story. Kind of why we're here."

Before Moira could say another word, another voice called from the dining room, this one gruffer, and with a much thicker Irish brogue.

"I hear that right? Michael's stopped by?"

The rustle of a newspaper and the sliding of a chair followed it, and then careful footsteps accompanied with a cane.

"Yes, Ronan," Moira called back, quickly breaking her gaze from Vanna as she hung the coats in a closet just under the stairs, "and he's brought a friend with him!"

Mike glanced over his shoulder as Ronan Fitzgerald made his way down the front hall. Unlike his wife, who aged gracefully, Ronan stooped over like a large, thin vulture, with no hair on his head save for attempted wisps of a beard, and deeper wrinkles that made him look older than he really was. His sharp blue eyes immediately honed in on his younger son, his wrinkling mouth soft, but firm under his bony nose.

"'Bout time," he said, hobbling over to Mike.

Mike tried to remain turned away, but found himself pulled around a little as Ronan reached an arm around his shoulders to give him a quick squeeze.

"We missed you, boyo," Ronan told him.

Mike awkwardly crossed his arms, hoping to hide the blood and the badge for at least another moment.

"I missed you too, Da," Mike said, quietly, turning slightly away.

Fortunately, Ronan didn't notice his son's clothing or awkward stance as his eyes fell upon Vanna.

"And who's this Amazonian angel?" he asked, offering a hand to her.

"Vanna," Mike said, quickly. "She's my best friend."

Vanna took Ronan's hand and gave it a _very_ gentle shake, fearing she might break him otherwise. He returned it with a firm grip that legitimately surprised her due to his frail frame.

"Possibly a bit more, eh?" Ronan asked, giving Vanna's hand a quick kiss before letting it go.

Vanna quickly laughed it off as she took her hand back.

"Just friends," she insisted. "Really."

Like Mike, she was grateful for Ronan's obliviousness. Vanna glanced to Mike, and recognized the numb look on his face, the hesitance to ruin this nice moment with bad news. She quickly cleared her throat.

"A-anyway," she said, "you'll probably want to sit down for this. It's…"

She searched for a proper word to gently get the point across. "Grim," came up first, and she flipped her mental rolodex for a better one. Before a new word could be found, Moira gasped again, stepping up to Mike as she finally noticed his bloodied shirt.

"God in _heaven_, Michael!" she exclaimed, turning him to better look at the stains. "What in Mary's good name happened to you?"

"I'm fine, Ma," Mike said, keeping his arms crossed over the badge. "Really!"

He nodded towards the living room.

"Can we talk?" he asked. "It's important."

Moira nodded, but caught a glimmer at his chest. She reached to push his hand away. Mike hesitated at first, but gave in, knowing it was going to come out sooner or later. Might as well rip it off and be done.

"Michael, what's...oh my god!"

Moira shoved a hand over her mouth as she recognized the smiling bear. Mike saw the gears in her mind turn as she looked between Vanna and Mike, her other hand going to Ronan's shoulder. Soon enough, they would piece together where he had been and what he had done.

That he could have shared his brother's fate, and possibly dragged his new friend with him.

"Michael, you didn't-!" Moira stammered.

Mike looked away from her, his arms tightening over his chest. Ronan stepped forward to get a better look, his own wrinkled face molding into a look of horror.

"Are you _mad_, lad?" he exclaimed in utter disbelief. "The hell are you-? After what happened?"

Vanna quickly stepped in.

"We know," she said, moving in front of Mike. She defensively held up her hands in an attempt to diffuse the situation. "It's what we came here to talk about."

Moira's grip tightened on her husband's shoulder. She shook like a leaf caught in the wind, but managed a nod. Somewhere under the shock and disbelief, she remembered her manners as a hostess. She let go of Ronan, and shooed him towards the living room. Ronan's mouth wordlessly moved up and down as he tried to think of something to say, before he nodded to his wife and quickly hobbled into the living room. Moira then gestured for Mike and Vanna to follow.

Vanna entered next, with Mike trailing behind. The living room remained as cozy and welcoming as he remembered: a plush green couch with matching recliners either side, a cherry wood coffee table, rich green curtains over the front windows. The boxy TV stood on a cherry wood cabinet that hid the VHS player and their small collection of movies. Bookshelves lined the back wall, interspersed with the family library, Moira's trinkets, and photos of their family.

Every spare space held pictures, from the side tables beside the arm chairs, to the walls and the top of the TV, all of them records of proud parents and their two sons, and even a few of Mike with his birth parents. By choice, Mike kept his original surname, but as the room and the rest of the house showed, he was as much of a Fitzgerald as any of them.

Ronan gave a small gesture to the couch. Mike obediently took a seat on the middle cushion. Moira sat down beside him, her hands resting gracefully in her lap. Vanna took Mike's other side as Ronan settled himself in his favorite armchair by his wife.

"...What's this about, then?" he managed, finally finding his words again as he rested both hands on his cane.

Mike kept his own gaze on his hands in his lap, his fingers shifting for something to do. Everything suddenly hurt again as his stomach tore itself apart. Golden rabbits and bloodied springs filled his mind, his promise to Jeremy right before the suit shut down. Mike's lips parted, but his tongue remained still, wanting to move, but suddenly lacking the strength.

_He wanted to tell you goodbye_.

The words hung in his mind. One simple phrase, six easy words. But getting them to pass his lips felt impossible.

Mike shuddered. He felt Vanna's hand at his back.

"...Want me to start?" she asked, quietly.

He shook his head. While he appreciated the offer, it wasn't her place. Mike forced in another breath.

"...Ma," he said, after a moment, "Da...I…"

"Yes, Michael?" Moira asked, trying to keep her own voice steady.

"What is it, boyo?" Ronan gently urged.

Mike shook his head.

"I don't know where to start," he confessed. "Just...I found Jeremy. Or what...happened to him, at least."

Mike knew the silence that followed. The shifting of clothes as Moira and Ronan looked at each other in disbelief, the knowing looks they undoubtedly gave. Moira took his hand, and he let her. Her tight grip betrayed her soft words.

"...What happened, love?"

She tried to keep her tone hopeful. He caught the barely hidden note of need and desperation. Ronan stayed quiet, but Mike felt his tension, and saw his foster father's grip on his cane in the corner of his eye. They gave him time to find the right words to say, to be comfortable. But there never would be the right words for this, nor comfort from the knowledge of their older son's fate.

"...There was a suit," Mike said, at last. "No one knew it was there, not even the managers. It was found by accident."

"A suit?" Ronan asked. "Like for one of those animals?"

"Yeah," Vanna confirmed. "Except this one wasn't just built for an animatronic."

She looked to Mike for a cue to continue or not. Mike just nodded in agreement.

"It was a costume too," he said, "and whoever hid it…i-it was empty. Mostly. There were...stains inside. On the mechanical parts. They looked like rust, but..."

Mike shifted from Vanna's grip and stood up just long enough to reach into his pocket. He clutched the watch in his fist as he walked over to Ronan.

"This was caught inside it," he said, opening his hand to reveal its gruesome treasure.

Mike carefully placed the watch in Ronan's hand. Ronan took the hint immediately, and examined the watch. The color drained from his face when he took in the blood spatters, the silver markings, the distinct etches in the silver rim around the glass. A haunted sound crawled out of his throat when he turned it to the back and read the initials: _M. F_.

There was no mistaking it. He had given it to Jeremy as an heirloom for his tenth birthday, and Jeremy never took it off since.

"...My da's watch," he whispered. "Da Morgan's-"

He shakily held the watch out to his wife, out of fear he'd drop it. Moira gently took it from his hands, and looked it over herself. She bit down to keep her jaw still. Her lips trembled as she handed it back to Mike, unable to look at it beyond base confirmation.

Mike couldn't face either of them. He clasped the watch in his hand again, only for Moira to put hers over it. Her other hand went to her temples, her fingers covering her eyes. Mike felt the tremors in her arm as her shoulders shook. Moira bit her lips in an attempt to keep back sobs as she put the details together. Tears trailed down her cheeks as she tightened her grip on Mike's hand. In his armchair, Ronan simply clutched his cane, so tightly that the color drained from his knuckles. His mouth hung open in horror and disbelief, and his eyes started to glimmer, which he forcibly kept back.

Vanna reached over Mike's lap to put a hand on Moira's.

"...I'm sorry," she whispered, trying not to choke up herself. "It's all that was found of him."

Moira looked up at her with a nod, then turned away. Ronan's chair creaked as he pushed himself up. He immediately knelt down in front of his wife, pulling her into his arms. His own lips were tight, his eyes vacant, devoid of any emotion. Moira pulled her hand from under Vanna's to cling to her husband. Ronan kissed Moira's forehead, then looked up at Mike, a sorrowful look on his face. Without a word, Ronan offered a hand to him.

Before Mike could react, he found himself pulled into the embrace too, falling to the floor on one knee to be closer to his foster parents. Like before, he took a moment to get over the shock, before he placed his arm at Ronan's back. Moira shifted away from her husband, only to pull Mike to her, her lips finding the top of his head.

"You leave that place, Michael," she whispered, a kiss puncturing every other word. "You hand in that badge tomorrow, and-"

"M-Ma!" Mike said, firmly. "It's...it's over."

He felt her lips in his hair again. She ran her hand over his arm as she spoke.

"Good!" Moira whispered. "I lost one son to that damned, horrible place. I _won't_ be losing the other!"

Moira moved her lips to his forehead, giving him one more kiss before she rested her head over his, her arms a protective vice around him. Ronan let the both of them go, before he used his cane to pull himself back onto his feet. He glanced to Vanna, who had quietly remained in her seat to allow the Fitzgerald family a chance to properly mourn for their lost. He gave a soft gesture to her. Vanna carefully stood and came over. Ronan reached up to put an arm around her shoulders. Vanna took the hint and stooped down a little to let him.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Vanna reached up to wipe her eyes, and gave him a soft nod. Mike managed to slip out of Moira's arms. He carefully found his way back to his seat on the couch, though he let his foster mother take his hand, knowing her need to have him near her after hearing what became of her eldest.

"It's why we came," Mike said. "I wanted to tell you first, before Da got the evening paper. I...I wanted you to hear it from me."

He squeezed Moira's hand, then looked over to Ronan.

"I can't tell you much about the case," he said, softly, "but I can tell you with absolute certainty that the murderer was found, and the police got a confession. Jeremy will get justice, and so will his other victims."

Ronan made his way back to his chair.

"The devil take him," he said, carefully lowering himself into the seat, "the same way he took my son."

Vanna snerked a little.

_Aunt Bonnie tried_…

She quickly played it off as a cough.

"...Is that why your nose is broke?" Moira asked, gesturing to Mike's face.

Mike nodded, and braced himself for Moira's inevitable fussing over him.

"He tried to do the same to me," he said, as his foster mother moved some of his hair to look at a bruise on his forehead that had otherwise been hidden, "but we were prepared for him. It was worth it to take him down."

Moira made a soft noise and continued to look him over. Mike gently pushed her hand away when she got too close to the bruise on his cheekbone. He gestured to his shirt.

"This is mostly from my nose," he said, trying to be somewhat assuring. "The rest is just bruising."

"Looks like he beat you pretty bad," Ronan observed.

"Should've seen him," Mike said with a smirk. "I can still walk."

"You can't take _all_ the credit," Vanna said. "I pummeled him with a chair."

She pondered a moment.

"The first time, anyway."

That sent Ronan into a small fit of laughter. Moira simply tutted and went back to fussing over Mike.

"Always were a stubborn fool," Ronan said, shaking his head with a smile, "and you always had a knack for finding trouble."

"Learned it from you, Da," Mike shot back.

"Just continuing what your father started," Ronan retorted.

Mike smirked.

"Isn't that the truth."

"And no matter what trouble you found," Moira said, "Jeremy almost always got you out of it, bless him."

Mike winced as she found a particularly nasty bruise on his arm. He sobered a little.

"...He did it one last time," he said, quietly.

Moira looked up at him.

"What do you mean?"

Mike glanced to his foster parents. He felt Vanna take his hand, and immediately felt gratitude at the strength that came with it.

"It's...going to sound crazy," he said, softly, "but...ever since I found the watch, it was..."

He hesitated, unsure of how to explain the strange happenings at Freddy's and how the ghosts spoke with him and Vanna. Mike's grip tightened on Vanna's hand as he thought of how to best put it. He glanced up and caught a picture of Jeremy on top of the TV set, and near it, a small ceramic scroll with a poem about angels written on it.

In that moment, he knew what to say.

"...It was like he was there with me," Mike whispered. "Guiding me."

He looked back to Ronan and Moira.

"Ever since that suit was discovered," he whispered, "I...I had dreams."

Moira's fingers found their way through his hair, fixing it as best she could.

"...Dreams, love?" she asked, gently.

"Yeah," Mike said. "Dreams."

He ran his thumb over the watch. His other hand gripped Vanna's.

"Dreams that...he was trapped, and calling for help," Mike continued. "For _me_. And every time I went back to Freddy's, I felt a presence. Something pointing me in the right direction to...find out what happened."

Mike felt his heart sink.

"...I went looking for him," he whispered, "and found his fate. He needed me to know. And that's not even the weirdest part."

Ronan and Moira both looked at each other, then back to Mike. Ronan silently nodded for him to continue. Mike gestured to his face, then his shirt.

"The asshole who did this," he said, quietly, "he almost succeeded in taking me out."

Moira's hands found themselves holding back another gasp. Mike just nodded.

"I got away," he said, quickly trying to assure her. "He chased me down the hall. I thought I was done for, just waiting for him to catch up...and then I heard metal footsteps."

He held out the watch again.

"That same suit where I found this? It came running down the hall and pulled him away from me."

Ronan looked to the watch, then back to Mike.

"The _hell_, lad!" he gaped. "How in the blazes-?"

"To be a little fair," Vanna quickly pitched in, "those robots _do_ have some pretty good A.I. programming for things designed to entertain children."

"Y-yeah," Mike said, taking her lead. "I mean, I've seen them do weird shit when they roam freely at night. So maybe...maybe the suit itself remembered something he did, and had enough intelligence to be _really_ pissed about it, and I just got lucky."

He shuddered again.

"But I...I really think, at least for that moment, it was Jeremy trying to prevent history from repeating itself."

Moira nodded quickly.

"Did it...do anything else?" she asked. "Say anything?"

Mike shook his head.

"It lost power, and...everything that happened after is kind of a mess," he said, mostly to avoid going into any further detail. "I can't explain half the shit that went on last night, but...that, I remember clearly."

"That sounds-" Ronan started, his tone clearly scrutinizing what he just heard.

"-Just like him," Moira quickly interrupted.

She held a note of scrutiny in her voice as well, but knew enough to let this go for the moment.

"A guardian angel."

Mike nodded and looked back at the watch in his hand. He thought of the golden rabbit, the ghostly pupils behind the silver discs, the promise he made.

"...I had one more dream last night," he said, looking back to his foster parents. "Sometime in the hospital. He was...he was standing before me. Smiling."

Mike set the watch down on the coffee table, then pulled his hand from Vanna's. He knelt down between Moira and Ronan and took each of their hands.

"...He thanked me for finding him," he said, quietly, trying to keep his voice steady, "and he told me...to tell you goodbye for him."

Moira gripped his hand tightly and pulled it up to her face. She nodded, her body trembling again.

"...M-my boy," she whispered. "My Jeremy…"

Vanna took Mike's vacated seat to sit beside Moira. She gently ran a hand over her back. Mike looked to Ronan. His foster father's grip was just as tight, his face vacant once more. The few hairs barely passing for a beard trembled as his lips parted slightly. Mike just slowly nodded to him, then glanced behind Ronan, out of the living room to the stairs.

The feeling of finality came back, stronger now that the rest of the family knew the truth.

Empty bedrooms, one that still saw life a few times a year, and the other cold and empty, much like a tomb.

Mike turned back to his foster parents.

"...I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For-for _what_, Michael?" Moira asked, reaching up to wipe her eyes.

"That…"

He trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

"...Michael," Ronan said, gently, "we know this isn't easy for any of us. And you…"

He gently gestured to Mike's face.

"...You took risks to find out the truth and bring it back to us."

Ronan gave him a tight smile.

"It's going to hurt, but...I think your Ma and I long since accepted he wouldn't come back. The question now is...have you?"

Mike let the question sink in. Jeremy told him to let go, but this had been a part of him for so long, he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to. He took a breath as he cleared his thoughts.

"I think...now that I have answers...I finally feel like I can try to. It's what he wants."

"Michael," Moira whispered, "that's all Ronan and I ever wanted for you."

"I know, Ma."

Mike forced up a smile.

"I've stopped running," he said, quietly, "and it feels so good to breathe."

Ronan squeezed his son's hand.

"We're glad you came, Michael," he said, quietly. "I know it's been hard for you to let this go. You already lost enough before you came to us. And...as much as it hurt that you pushed away, I think you needed to. You needed distance to figure out how to find peace."

He forced up something resembling a smile. His eyes sparkled with flecks of moisture. Ronan then looked up to Vanna.

"And you too, Vanna," he said, his tone lifting. "I'm happy Michael has someone to give him a good boot to the buttocks when we can't. Keep his head on straight."

Vanna smirked a little.

"Did since the day we met," she said.

"Michael's always been good at finding trouble," Moira said, reaching up to wipe her eyes, "but he always seems to pick up good friends along the way."

"Tall ones, at that," Ronan observed. "Man or woman, you've got a type, Michael. Maybe one day, you'll bring one home."

"Da!"

"And straight out say what _kind_ of friend they are."

"_Da_!"

"Well, it's the truth, isn't it?"

Vanna didn't bother to hold back her laughter. Mike stood and crossed his arms, and while his cheeks briefly gained a pink tinge, even he couldn't hold back a smile.

"...I was about to start breakfast when you dropped by," Moira said, pushing herself up from the couch. "Would you like to stay for a bit?"

"We'd love to," Vanna said.

"We've got some catching up to do," Ronan said, getting up himself, "and a 'friend' of yours to get to know."

He glanced to Vanna, then gave a knowing look to Mike. Mike frowned.

"Yes. _Friend_. As in, 'not dating'," he said, moving to follow his foster parents into the dining room.

Ronan chuckled.

"That's what I said about your Ma."

"_Da!_" Mike exclaimed. "I'm serious!"

"I'm really not into boys," Vanna said, trying to urge them off the subject.

"Jeremy wasn't really into girls, either," Moira said with a shrug.

"Neither am I," Vanna replied.

"Oh," Moira said, a little confused. She quickly pulled back her cheerful demeanor. "Well, whatever makes you happy, dear. How do you like your eggs?"

* * *

Will sat at his desk in his Fazbear museum, going through some of the photo albums. After he and Waylon finished what they needed for the investigation, he came right home and passed out. Now he was awake again and trying to decompress and process the night's events, particularly the resolved cases of his niece and nephew. An empty dinner plate and two empty beer bottles sat at the edge of the desk. One more sat half-full an untouched in the last half hour. Bonnie's wedding album and the Fredbear's album were both open before him.

He looked over the moments of his niece and nephew captured in time, in their white wedding clothes and smiles and hopes for the future. In the second album, his hand ran over the picture of Bonnie and her nieces. Will's lips trembled as he forced up a smile.

"It's over now," he whispered.

The doorbell rang. Will glanced up, then pushed himself from his desk. He headed upstairs, to the landing between the floors. When he pulled the door open, he saw the red coat first, then a plastic shopping bag held in olive-gold hands. He glanced up to his unexpected guest.

"...Hey, Uncle Will," Vanna said, a bit nervously. "I…"

She quickly shoved the bag towards him.

"Sorry I couldn't explain before," she said, "but it's clean, and I even ironed it for you."

Will gently took the bag, then turned back to her.

"Wasn't expectin' it back this soon," he said.

"I would have called," Vanna explained, "but I realized I didn't get your number."

"Don't worry 'bout it," Will said.

He smiled, and made a welcoming gesture.

"Since you're here, why don't you come on in? I was just lookin' through some of Bon's albums. Got some good stories to go with 'em."

Vanna smiled and stepped over the threshold.

"...I'd like that," she said, quietly.

Will got the door behind her.

"Got one more matter of business while we're at it," he said as he lead her downstairs.

"What is it?"

"Bon did everythin' she could for you and your sister," Will explained. "Includin' investing in your futures."

He went into the Fazbear museum and over to the closet. Will reach for the top shelf and pulled down a lock box. Vanna watched as he set it on an empty place on the desk and dug through his keys to unlock it. She curiously stepped closer.

The box contained several documents, including an updated copy of the deed. Will thumbed through them, until he found what he was looking for.

"You're older'n twenty-one, right?" Will asked with a wink.

"Twenty-seven," Vanna confirmed.

"Then I can give you this."

Vanna took the paperwork and looked it over. Her eyes bulged when she realized she held the documents for a trust fund, and more than that, the initial amount.

"She...holy fuck…"

Will smiled.

"Always hoped I'd run into you," he said. "Put the last of Bon's wishes to rest."

Vanna simply nodded as she stared at the papers. Her mind went to her unfinished projects at home, classes to resume, being able to quit working at The Sanctuary…

The papers crinkled in her tight grip. Vanna tightly hugged Will around his neck.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

Will smiled and returned it. He gently patted her back, then let her go.

"Now, I heard you wanted some stories."

Vanna pulled away. She wiped her eyes and nodded.

"From the beginning," she said.

Will nodded and pushed the albums on the desk aside, before he reached to get another from the shelf.


	49. Epilogue

_Activating start-up protocol._

_Auto update date and time: 03/05/1996 10:53:16pm_

_Activating watch_learn._

_Activating sound_location._

_Activating personality_test._

_Activating artificial_intelligence._

_Activating facial_recognition._

_Activating give_gift._

_Uploading Fredbear_Pizza14062._

_Upload complete._

_Auto update date and time: 03/06/1996 03:02:24am_

_Power source undetected._

_Charge: 100%_

_Opening bwickes_personal…_

The gray ceiling tiles came into view on its internal cameras. It turned its head to see shelves lined with masks and boxes, all of them better placed than before. It listened, realizing that something sounded different.

Slowly, it pushed itself up. Somewhere behind it, a gentle note rang. It paid the singular sound no mind.

Looking over the edge of where it sat, it saw black and white tiles, shining with polish. Its long-fingered hand clutched the edge, the thin arm covered with stripes. It noted there were more than usual, not only on the forearms, but winding their way all the way up to the shoulders.

_Retrieving character information_.

_Character information: P.U.P.P.E.T_.

Puppet curiously moved its arm, tilting its head to better see the stripes along it. It glanced down to see similar stripes around the bottom half of its its torso, with a single white button on its dark chest instead of a set of three.

A new costume, it realized.

Puppet gave it no further inquiry. Instead, it accessed its activation logs. The files it discovered showed records of numerous manual access sessions, copied files, and shutdowns, dating over the course of over two years. The last time it activated properly had been…

_Information retrieved_.

_11/13/1993 07:13:53pm_

The most recent video files showed footage of the inside of the crawl space above, of the decrepit Spring Bonnie suit, the bright dining room…

...The Smiling Man.

Puppet quickly turned its head. The little chime rang again, once more ignored in favor of something more important.

Two years, four months, and twenty-five days passed in that time. Had it failed its task? Did the Smiling Man slip through its fingers once again?

It moved to the edge of the work table, then slipped off the edge, intending to float above it as it often did.

It crashed to the ground.

Something jingled on impact. Puppet turned to look for the source, but nothing came into its camera view. The little chimes still sang behind it. It turned its head, and they sang again. Puppet reached behind its head and found the source: a round little bell hanging behind it, attached to the top of its head like a single piece of a jester's cap. With that mystery solved, it looked around the room for the source of the constant audio disturbance, to the neatly organized shelves, the mascot heads, the tile floor below it.

Everything looked familiar, and not. Nothing made any noise.

Puppet pushed itself up, and searched its vocabulary files for words to describe what it was hearing. It found it after a moment.

_Silence_.

It no longer heard crying.

Puppet rang out a desperate chime, then played a song that often soothed the crying child and lulled her to sleep.

No answer.

It got onto its knees and reached for the ceiling tiles, longing to crawl into them. They remained beyond its reach unless it wished to climb the shelves.

_Activating emotional_algorithm._

_Determining factors._

_Processing emotional output_

…

Puppet turned its head, then glanced down at the tiles below it. Its reflection showed a new mask, similar to the old one, but with a line down the middle where two halves met, and with its cheek circles extruding out further.

More than that, it noticed its eyes glowed blue again, LED lights peering out from the back of its sockets.

Not ghostly white, as they had been when it shared its body with Vesper.

In that moment, Puppet realized why it heard the silence. It reached a hand to its chest, gripping the single button as it turned away from its reflection in the tiles.

_I am...empty_.

"Puppet."

Puppet looked up. Vesper floated just a few inches from the floor. A delighted chime rang from the marionette. It reached for Vesper, and she placed her hand over its own, her ghostly form fading through it. Briefly, a faint surge went through its metal fingers, a memory of the bond they shared before. Vesper smiled. Her empty eyes shifted to become green and human for brief flashes.

"You are back!"

Another voice spoke after her.

"Little one."

It recognized Miss Bonnie's voice. Puppet turned and watched her appear, as translucent as Vesper, but just as it remembered her: her olive-gold skin, her green eyes, her red polo and matching headband holding back her dark hair. It noticed shine in her eyes, barely held back with her smile.

"Your task is complete," she said, gently. "Thank you."

Puppet reached for her. Miss Bonnie knelt down and held out her arms, pantomiming an embrace. Puppet returned it as well as it could, holding its arms where they would have wrapped around her in life.

"I am proud of everything you accomplished," Miss Bonnie said, "and thanks to your efforts...I found Freddy."

Puppet noticed another form behind her, this one about as tall as Miss Bonnie herself. He wore work jeans, thick boots, and an old shirt. It recognized his dark skin and large form from the pictures, but more than that, his large smile behind a trimmed, bushy beard, bald head, and warm eyes. Freddy stepped beside Miss Bonnie and got down on one knee to be at Puppet's level.

"Saw what you did for Bonnie all these years," Freddy said. "An' I know what you did for Vesper and the others."

He reached to touch Puppet's cheek. Puppet tilted its head in curiosity.

"You kept us all together," Freddy continued, "and made us a family."

Vesper grinned and hugged Puppet from behind. Her ghostly form shifted into the back of its body, but the child was content enough to pantomime the embrace. Puppet moved one hand to reach behind and shifted it through her ghostly hair.

"You are our family too, Puppet," Vesper said.

She gave it a quick kiss on its cheek. Puppet gently touched the cheek circle where a soft surge reacted to her ghostly touch.

_Engage personality_test._

_Processing new information._

_Activating emotional_algorithm._

_Determining factors._

_Processing emotional output_

.

Puppet gently touched each of the ghost's hands as the result came up with the proper word:

_Love_.

Miss Bonnie smiled again, then stood up. She gestured to the empty space beside her.

Wisps of blue began to appear, each taking form. An African-American girl, roughly five or six, appeared. Her pulled-back hair and natural curls made a large pompom on top of her head. She held the hand of a boy a little younger than her. His grin revealed two missing front teeth from his freckled face. Both of them wore shorts and t-shirts. Nearby, another little girl came into view. Her red hair trailed in a long sheet behind her, and her big eyes lovingly took in everything they saw. A Latino boy, taller than the other children, shyly lingered in the back of the group.

Unlike Vesper, who spent so long in her vessel that she began to take on its features, each of the other children still retained their human eyes and forms.

"Look at who you helped," Bonnie said, proudly. "Who you _saved_."

Puppet glanced at each child and matched each of their faces to the memories of the horrible days when it found them after the Smiling Man got to them, how it placed each of their bodies inside the animatronic suits to give them new life, as it had given Vesper long before.

"The Smiling Man is gone," came a new accented voice, "and our loved ones have peace."

Puppet turned to see Jeremy Fitzgerald appear near Vesper, his security uniform as crisp as the night he perished, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood at attention.

"With your help," he continued, "the Smiling Man was brought to justice."

"We waited for you," the African-American girl said. "We wanted to say goodbye."

"Thank you, Puppet!" the red-haired girl exclaimed.

The Latino boy shyly gave a small wave to the marionette and a small nod of gratitude.

"Thanks!" the freckled boy exclaimed.

Bonnie turned back to Puppet.

"I know your task wasn't easy," she said, "but you did everything I couldn't, watched over these children, and brought the right people to help. You are, by far, my proudest accomplishment."

Puppet chimed in delight. It reached for Miss Bonnie, who leaned down closer to its level. Puppet touched its upper lip to Miss Bonnie's cheek. She laughed and returned it with a ghostly kiss to its forehead.

"We must go now," she said, gently. "We have all been trapped here for far too long."

Puppet nodded in understanding. Freddy gently placed a hand around Bonnie's waist. She let out a soft, happy noise and nuzzled into him. Vesper hovered near Puppet.

"You still have friends here," she said.

"Yes," Freddy agreed. "We're leavin' you in good hands."

"I have only one last request," Miss Bonnie said.

"Take care of Will and Vanna and Mike for us?"

Puppet nodded. Bonnie knelt down and reached to move her ghostly hand over its new mask. Jeremy gave the Puppet a small salute.

"We're forever grateful," he said.

He glanced to the children.

"Now we can finally move on," Jeremy continued. "We can go home."

"Home…" Miss Bonnie mused.

She took Freddy's hand and offered her hand to the one of the children. Freddy offered his hand to another, while Jeremy took two more. Vesper floated to the gap in the chain hands to complete it.

The ghosts smiled.

And then they were gone.

Puppet watched the spot where they disappeared.

..._I will miss you_.

It looked to the table where it fell from before. Without Vesper, it could not longer float above the ground. Puppet pulled itself back up onto the table, then lied back down. It waited for its new bell to settle again.

Satisfied with its completed mission, it went back to its default stasis.

**Thursday, June 20, 1996**

A little over two years passed since that horrible night. In that time, Will had the floor by the stage dug up to confirm Freddy's remains. The large decaying skeleton and the broken fingers on its left hand helped confirm his identity and theft of his wedding ring. Mike handed over Jeremy's watch and journal, which in turn gave credence to reopen the 1987 case. A search warrant turned up a box of personal possessions taken from Greg Mortman's home, each one a trophy taken from his victims.

The recordings along with the evidence sealed his fate. With no where else to turn, Mortman confessed to the murders. In addition, he confessed to being behind the disappearance of Kamili Williams and two other missing children.

Rumors spread that some details of Mortman's case and subsequent trial remained off the public record. As with anything else involving Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, tales of ghosts and the supernatural, of strange and unexplainable things quickly caught the public interest. Those serving on the case refused to say anything more than that the evidence was strong enough to coerce several confessions out of Mortman and to convict him on several life sentences. Any tales of ghostly antics in the courtroom were vehemently denied.

Freddy Fazbear's Pizza shut down long before the case went to trial. Waylon Kent retired and washed his hands of it once the investigation completed. The building stood there, lonely and empty, its unchanging facade standing like a memorial to the tragedies that occurred there. A construction crew surrounded the building for a few months even after recovering Freddy Wickes' remains, perhaps to repair the broken foundation, not that it mattered anymore.

Once the trial finished, Freddy was properly laid to rest beside his wife.

Many times after dark, a little black Chevy, a green pick-up truck, maybe even both were seen in the Freddy's parking lot. They respectively belonged to a tall woman with golden skin and long black hair, and an old black man who often wore blue coveralls. Whatever their business, they kept it to themselves. On occasion, a smaller, dark-haired young man accompanied them.

The trio always moved with purpose.

Now and again, even through the tinted windows, reports came of a strange blue light moving about the building at night. Occasionally, a child's crying echoed throughout the parking lot. One or two brave souls came enough to peer through the windows. They claimed the light came from a little girl in a party dress, though she never lingered long enough to pick out further details. Sometimes, a large man's form faded in and out.

Towards the end of the trial, two more little blue lights appeared, then another, then one more. All five of them flickered in and out as the nights passed. The little lights playfully dipped and skirted around the building, chasing each other. The man's form kept watch.

There came a night soon after when two more large blue lights appeared together, both tall and thin.

After a while, the reports of the blue lights mysteriously stopped.

Inside, Freddy Fazbear's Pizza looked just as neat and clean as the day it opened. The new tile floors gleamed. The video game cabinets sported new buttons, new screens, and updated art. Pristine white tablecloths hung from the tables with party hats lining their centers. Every ceiling star glittered more brightly after being dusted down. Children's drawings no longer covered the re-plastered and freshly-painted walls. Instead, art of the beloved characters and framed newspaper clippings detailing the restaurant's history hung from them.

Bonnie, Freddy, Chica, and Foxy all stood on their stages, the starry purple curtains open to an invisible audience. The deathly smell no longer lingered on their suits, their faces looked bright-eyed and friendly, and walking near them...the haunting aura they once exhibited long since vanished.

No more sadness, no more pain, no more ghosts trapped within their inner programming.

All of them had been taken apart, put back together, and tuned up thanks to Vanna's continued studies. Foxy's jaw no longer hung loose, and he finally sported a suit worthy of his companions.

At the entrance stood two tall glass display cases, the hostess stand between them, with room for guests to walk in on either side of it. One case sported a new golden rabbit with green eyes, a purple bowtie, and a matching purple bow around its right ear. One hand held the neck of a purple guitar, the instrument strapped to the rabbit's chest. The other case held a brown-eyed golden bear in a purple bowtie and tophat, a microphone gripped tightly in one hand. Both of them held their free hands up in a friendly wave.

In the back room, all of the parts had been sorted through, cleaned, labeled, and in some cases, thrown out. The shelves smelled of cleaner. The spare endoskeleton no longer sat in the back, having been repurposed up front. Only a sole occupant remained, lying back on the new work table.

A light blue Suzuki FX pulled up into the parking lot at Freddy's. Mike got out, shutting the door quickly as he checked his watch.

11:49pm.

For the better part of the last two years, the animatronics had been in police custody, ensuring no further tampering. Over the last several months, Will began to reacquire them, and with her blessing, repurposed Vesper's trust fund into fixing up the place. He said he still believed in it, and Mike and Vanna assisted when they could.

As Mike approached the old building, he caught his reflection in the glass.

The brim of his guard hat still covered his eyes. The purple color of the uniform barely stood out from the tinted glass. Freddy's face gleamed from his chest.

Mike took a closer look.

His blue eyes reflected back at him, a confident smirk on his lips. He tipped his hat in a small salute.

This time, he looked like himself.

A soft jingle rang overhead as he entered the building. He saw Will first, in dark slacks and a green polo with a matching cap. The older man came from the manager's office. He held a white gift box under one arm, and a few rolled up scrolls of thick paper in the other.

"Hey, Will," Mike said.

Will glanced up with a smile.

"Good to see you, Mike."

Mike smiled back.

"Never thought I'd miss this," he said.

"'Cept this time, the critters're more behaved."

"Even if they weren't, I can handle them," Mike told him. "Where's Vanna?"

"In the back with our old friend."

Mike nodded as he looked over the room. Their months of hard work and dedication showed in every corner. Even the animatronics seemed to approve.

A set of footsteps got both of their attention. Vanna stepped out with Puppet sitting on her hip like a child. The marionette's long legs were carefully draped over her waist, its arms wrapped around her shoulders. She wore a T-shirt that almost perfectly matched her favorite purple lipstick and dark jeans. Her silver Doc Martens shone rainbows with every step.

"Getting in a little late there, Mr. Schmidt," Vanna teased. "Caught up with a girlfriend?"

Mike smirked and shook his head.

"Boyfriend, then?" Vanna asked, amused. "Or both?"

"Pretty sure one of them's yours," Mike shot back.

"And both on a trip to Canada," Vanna said sweetly, "riding unicorns with Bigfoot."

They both laughed at that. Will simply shook his head, more than used to their antics now. He set his load on the table and carefully set the scrolls aside. Mike now saw the box had a blue ribbon wrapped around one side.

"I can't believe we're actually going to do this," Vanna said when she calmed down. "I'm excited."

Puppet made a single chime in agreement.

"Bon and Fred may be gone," Will said, "but their dream isn't. We owe it to 'em to try."

He picked up the gift.

"Got this for you for the big day tomorrow, Vanna," Will said. He turned to Puppet. "But I think you should do the honors."

Puppet let out a delighted chime as Vanna set it back inside its box. Will then handed the gift to Puppet, who in turn properly presented it to Vanna. Vanna laughed as she took the box.

"Thanks," she said.

She pulled it open, and gave a warm smile at its contents. Vanna pulled a new gold chain with a polished wedding band on the end. Underneath it was a red shirt, with a golden bear and bunny smiling up at her.

"Uncle Will…" Vanna breathed. "...You're serious?"

Will nodded.

"S'time that shirt came out of retirement. And I've got no use for Fred's ring. Figured it should go to someone who'll appreciate it."

Vanna's hands shook a little as she lifted the chain over her head and pulled it on. She then picked up the ring to read the inscription, a small tremor on her lips. Vanna carefully wiped her eyes, then quickly hugged Will.

"Thank you," she said whispered.

Will returned it with one arm, patted her back twice, then pulled away.

"Got one more thing to show you," he said, "provided we're still here and doing well in a few years."

He gestured to table, where he left the scrolls of paper.

"Came across these a while ago," Will continued. "Bon was gettin' ready to expand not long before she passed. Had a lot of ideas for a new place, with her original theme. There's one in particular I wanted you to see."

Will thumbed through the scrolls, and picked one with a specific marking. He opened it and gently rolled the paper out to show a blueprint. Mike and Vanna came over to see. It took Vanna a second to pick out the design. When it registered, she felt her eyes water a little.

"She was gonna do this for you and Vesper," Will said. "Think she would've liked it?"

The blueprints showed sketches of a new animatronic, this one of a ballerina. Vanna looked over her aunt's careful notes for counterbalancing, a collision sensor for safety, and an audio activation mechanism similar to the the ones in the other animatronics. A small segment even showed Bonnie had picked out color swatches of white, dark blue, and pink.

"...She would have loved it," Vanna whispered.

She took a quick look at the other blueprints: a clown, a bear similar to Freddy with a bunny hand puppet, and what she presumed was Foxy's initial design. After taking them in, she rolled the blueprints back up and handed them to Will.

Will smiled as he collected the blueprints.

"What do you say, kids?" he asked. "Ready to open tomorrow?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Vanna said.

Mike nodded.

"Same," he said.

"Then I'll leave you to it," Will said, tipping the brim of his hat. "Night, Mike."

Vanna held her present under her arm. She turned to Puppet.

"Keep him out of trouble," she said.

Mike crossed his arms and shook his head with an amused smile. Puppet nodded once in affirmation and made its new bell jingled. It then waved to Will and Vanna as they headed out.

"See you in the morning," Mike called.

He then turned to Puppet.

"We've got a long night ahead of us," he said. "Think you can handle it?"

A delighted chime rang. Mike smiled.

"Then let's get started."


End file.
